Delirium
by CharmiaArkenstone
Summary: Long ago, a stranger was brought to Neverland by the hand of fate. Now, history repeats itself. Lives have been lost; loyalties have been tested; masks have been donned; and hearts have been broken. Torn between what is right and what is necessary, Sabre readies to face the final game. Sequel to 'Sabre' and 'Between Thunderclaps', part six of 'Emerald Storm'. Set during Season 3a.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings everyone, Delirium is finally here! **

**Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me from the beginning, I hope this was worth the wait :) Enjoy and please share your thoughts!**

**(Important note at the end)**

* * *

_We are forlorn like children, and experienced like old men, we are crude and sorrowful and superficial – I believe we are lost ~ Erich Maria Remarque_

* * *

_The stench of blood hung, putrid, in the night air. Fire, torched and untamed twisting together, sinisterly mimicked the light of day, so that she could see everything, the tears being the only hindrance, burning all the worse. A pair of arms hauled her away, shouts and cries ringing in her ears yet she could hear nothing within beyond her own heart. _

_He had been the kind of man found in songs and lore, in the tales read to children, her bother. _

_And now that was where he would reside._

_She could no longer tell if there was any life left in him, and nearly hoped not so that he would not have to endure what she could see. Thick booted brutes descended upon that once comely form, their mouths pursed in cruel dog-like howls. Her great hound was fallen. Now, there was only her, still nothing but a teething pup. _

_All became still. Any screaming or the clanging of metal was now far away, and he too. _

_"Look at me," someone shook her violently, a gruffly shattered voice grating on her hearing. "Look at me! You look at me. Listen to me. You do not fill your heart with grief; you fill it with fire, with vengeance. That is the only way to peace. Take what is owed to you in blood. Take revenge and restore balance. You may be bloodied, but you will not be broken. Never broken."_

Sabre woke with a sharp jolt.

Sluggishly, she lifted her head to see if she'd kicked anyone by accident but found herself quite alone. Her body slumped, still not free from the tenacious grip of exhaustion that had clawed its way down to her very bones, and it took all her will not to close her eyes and drift off again.

The freshly kindled fire danced before her glassy eyes though it was not yet nightfall, and with a low groan, hoarse in her throat, she rolled onto her back. The sky above was simply blots of slowly dwindling light through the looming canopies of trees and vines. And apparently sleep hadn't been enough to calm the muscular aches from the vigorous training early that morning either. Probably her own fault, though, going against Rune and Alfonso at the same time.

For uncounted moons, she'd lived without pain or draining fatigue from training. Those days were in the past, for all of them.

"Bad dreams again?" the comfortable drawl of Felix's voice descended on her ears.

"Oh, get fucked," she grumbled, finding the energy to sling a forearm over her eyes.

Nightfall couldn't come fast enough. With the others retired for the night, she might get a little peace and rest. She nearly scoffed at herself. _You never did learn quick enough._

"Not a bad idea," Felix replied easily, a playful smirk on his lips that she could hear in his voice. "Perhaps you should do the same. Might lighten you up a little."

Sabre now did scoff, letting her arm flop down by her side so she could turn her gaze on him, the corners of her mouth lifting a fraction. "Yes, because we all know you as the embodiment of carefree delight." She watched the tall boy slink past her, with an empty, half-smirk of her own. It was a weight she could only hold for a moment or two.

He paused, leering down. "I'm still much closer than you. Pan hasn't gone off you again, has he?" The toe of his boot connected with the muscle of her outer leg.

"Sod off, cunt," the girl grunted, but with the tiniest edge of a grin – a heavier weight – even as she did flinch on the inside, and for once he did as she said.

From head to toe, her muscles slumped into the ragged pelt under her back. The air had grown colder since she was last awake but couldn't find the strength to go in search of another. Glancing over to her hut, which lay half hidden by a great tree, Sabre hoped that Vasha was at least getting some rest. In the gap left in the entrance, which was no more than a strung up rug, lights flickered and a shadow that belonged to Nibs moved within. For almost three good decades, sickness and malady had been such rare visitors in Neverland; now, they were everywhere. In the cuts of jagged blades, in the wrong berry or piece of meat, in the poison air.

With the edges of sleep at last creeping away, Sabre was powerless to the thoughts which were swift to overrun every corner of her mind, going round and round in their endless circles, as they had ever since Pan offered the deal that had proven just compelling enough to keep the full extent of her conscience at bay, heard like the voice on the other side of a door which had lost its key, shouting and pounding upon the wood. The ability to recall everything had proven to be a blessing of no bounds, or who knew what sort of madness she would have strung herself into. She sighed and rubbed her face tiredly, unsure of how much longer she could wait; every conceivable way forward had been contemplated a hundred times at least.

Inwardly groaning, Sabre compelled her body to rise and drag itself away from the safety of the camp, leaving the pelt on the ground as it was. Someone else's tired body could collapse there.

How long had she waited? How long had they _all_ waited?

Time was such a peculiar thing in Neverland. One might say it travelled faster; where in the rest of the worlds a year gone by, several would have passed in Neverland. But then it could be said that it went slower, managing to stretch time and making it last longer. No one was entirely sure of how time in Neverland worked in relation to the rest of the creation, only that the ratio was weighted in Neverland's favour. In frankness, no one had any reason to care, save one. All Sabre could be sure of was that it had been a long, long time. Far too long. _The things we must do to keep our sanities intact._

Her feet carried her without need of conscious thought. She glimpsed down at the blue ribbon tied around her wrist, worn and faded, remembering the day it, again, became hers. After his execution, Curly had been taken to a quiet clearing and buried at her pleading behest, the first body of what would become Neverland's graveyard for the lost. She was the most common visitor to that dark glade, and knew where all the bodies and ashes lay buried, their names marked into the trees like headstones; boys she'd known well from her earliest days on Neverland, boys like James, and Pips, and Ted.

There had been no new arrivals for quite some time, yet something was irreplaceable about the band of Lost Boys with whom she'd first joined. She'd been the stranger and the outsider. The boys Pan had later brought to Neverland's shores found the rogue girl held a higher status, on par with Pan's two favourites, while still wearing the cloak that kept her, in some ways, as the outsider. But now, like the wild boy, there was now a distance between her and the Lost Boys, one that hadn't always been there.

Sabre did miss the old days, being a true Lost Girl, safe in the position of Pan's trinity yet running within the ranks of the Lost Ones, training them, playing and fighting with them, sleeping besides them. _But things have changed now. I'm more than a Lost One, and always was. It's time I woke up. _

Everything had changed the day Rufio died.

She came to stand before Curly's grave, fingers grazing the silken ribbon. _I'm sorry, old friend. I would take it all back if I could._ _Be at peace, wherever you are._

A chill descended like a sighing breath.

Sabre lifted her head.

"It's not long now, pup," Pan spoke from behind her. Sabre, with years of practice, calmly looked over her shoulder before turning to face him despite the lurching of her heart; even though he was at the other end of the clearing, it was as if he'd spoken right in her ear. "They'll be coming soon. You know what you need to do?"

"To the letter," she replied steadily, even as the knot tightened sickeningly in her belly. "The boy will die?"

Helplessly, her gaze swept over the concealed graves, piercing deeper in a forlorn search for the bodies beneath, rotting away in the land that held them in a limbo between time. Would the corpse of the Truest Believer join them there, she wondered.

Lost Ones had died in both honour and disgrace, and she remembered them all. So many deaths had passed her by that a relief had evolved for the times she could mourn them publically. Those who mourned for traitors, those that Pan wished dead, were punished; her grim countenance had saved her hide each time. The Boy-King cared not for how his thralls mourned each other otherwise, so long as it didn't deter their reverence or use to him, and if his heart did stir when death betrayed him, Neverland felt it to the very bones.

"You hold up your end of the bargain, and I'll hold up mine," the Boy-King prowled closer, tilting his head as he drew close. "Don't look glum now, Sabryna. This is a good thing, for both of us. You've waited _so _long, after all."

Sabre cast her eyes away, held her features still, tight lipped and observant. She didn't like it when he used her name.

Closer still, and towering over, Pan silently commanded her gaze to flicker up, cooing in mock concern. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts? Or am I going to get the chance to play out all the punishments I've conjured over the years?"

"Have I not done enough?" she ground out, unable to keep the fear fully at bay. "I've done _everything_ you wanted."

_I've played your games, I've fought your battles, I've killed on your orders, I've endured every torture and torment you put upon me, I've defied all I hold dear._

"I turned against Killian for you," the girl spoke as if having recited all that she wished to, but never would, say.

Pan smirked but his eyes were cold, piercing her like a shard of ice in the chest. "Not that it was good enough to save Rufio, was it?"

"It was difficult to do much with this," Sabre near trembled as she touched the left side of her throat. The long scar was fainter now but stark against the natural hue of flesh in the right light, and nothing would ever keep her from being able to know of its presence. Whether Killian had missed out of inaccuracy or misplaced sentiment, Sabre had no way to know but it had allowed her to get away with her life._ That hook was sharper than it looked._ "Not that anything I did could have saved him. It's not as though you were there to keep him alive."

A resounding _crack _ricocheted through the clearing. Tangled coppery hair was strewn across Sabre's face, blocking her sight as her skull was sent spinning and she crumpled to the ground. Breathing out slowly, she righted her head, able hear the distant retreating flaps of wings, and flicked her locks back over her shoulder, hands remaining still. As much as it _hurt_, that slap proved what she'd been sure of for a long, long time.

He _could_ love, but only brutally, fiercely and callously. In his own terrible way, he'd loved Rufio. And it _still _hurt.

The threads between them were not as strong as they once were, but she had long known how to feel his rawness.

"Careful now," Pan exhaled, eyes wild and alight, yet icily cruel. "It would be an awful shame to have come this far, and all for _nothing_."

Knowing better than to push the limits she'd similarly long learnt, Sabre nodded obediently, biting back the tears as she looked up. It came so naturally now. "I know what I need to do."

Pan gripped her jaw to pull her up, the bones nearly grinding. "Good dog." His mouth descended before she managed to gasp, capturing the point of her pulse under her jaw with a punishing ferocity.

Clenching her fists, Sabre fought to remain steady and poised, knowing all too well what would happen if she allowed herself to crumble under Pan's _affections_. She had to stay sharp, not sate the addiction; she now had a role to play. Failure could not even be thought of, now more than ever.

Fang-like teeth sunk into tender flesh, eliciting a stifled whine. The hand at the back of her head clenched viciously, and she trembled at the knowledge that, with just those fingers, he could crush and crack open her skull.

Pan drew away, leaving her cold and to nearly stumble with her own weight, and by the time she'd opened her eyes, panting for air, he had vanished as though never there.

Deflating, Sabre sighed out, running a hand over her furiously reddened cheek. There had been times when he too had been so close, so dissonantly, distantly intimate. She found that she missed that more than all else.

_It's not long now._

* * *

Darkness had fallen. Tonight was the night the game began.

Indigo hood drawn up over her mask, Sabre moved through the jungle with the swiftness of the creature it depicted. The leather jerkin she'd donned was firm, binding her body securely, fur lining the shoulders and collar, becoming much finer down the back, thick enough to shield from the cold. The clothes beneath, exposed on her arms and legs, were a deep grey hue, the whole attire prime to shroud her in the shadows. An instinct, she long knew better than question, or deny, had drawn her towards one of the bays, for there had been no forewarning of the circumstances under which the Truest Believer would arrive – how truly ironic it would be if the boy were to be brought by the very same means as herself – and she found a spot to crouch and hide, overlooking sea and sand.

Her blood and soul thrummed in a way she had not known for a long time. Far away, she was certain Pan felt it, also. The pieces were set, awaiting the first move. The army would be on the move.

_Now it begins. _

_Not long now, my love, I'll come home to you soon._

The silence was suffocating, deafening. Life had held its tongue. The ocean dared not lift its head, casting the silver moon in a seamless reflection. On any other night it would have been a beautiful sight to behold. The girl drew a deep breath, fearing the break of silence.

A flash of blinding light cracked open the fabric of the air before her shoulders could descend in exhale, whirling just above the ground. Sabre jolted, the air hitched in her throat as what could only have been a portal materialised from nothing.

Just as swiftly, the light was extinguished, leaving behind three figure who were not meant for her world. The smallest, a mere slip of a boy with his hands bound at his chest, collided to the sandy ground, his dark hair and face wet as if he'd surfaced from water. The face she'd only ever seen on the faded parchment.

Sabre exhaled, breath hot under the mask. _So you're the one. Good luck to you, boy. _

_Die well, and not in vain._

The boy scrambled to his feet in an attempt to flee, barely making a step before he was snatched back by a man who had followed in the portal. It had been quite some time since Sabre had seen someone fully within the bounds of adulthood – Hook and his pirates being the last – set foot on Neverland and now there were two, who did not belong. Her presence remained undetected as she watched events unfold.

"Uhh, uh, slow down, pal," the man said, taking the boy by the scruff, speaking nearly as if to placate him. Sabre examined the elder – pale skin, peculiar clothes, a receding hairline and an odd pack over his shoulders. He crouched a little to adjust to the boy's height. "You got nowhere to go," he spelled out before pushing the boy forward with enough force to make him stumble.

Sabre quickly turned her avid eyes to the female, the third and final – soft brown skin, dark hair straight as straw, and also with a pack of sorts at her back and strange attire that reminded her of nothing she'd ever seen. She'd been well aware that Pan had… _contacts_, a greater collective of pawns to satisfy his whims and wishes, beyond the bounds of Neverland, but she'd never been sure what to anticipate. Certainly not this.

The woman exhaled. "We made it," she glanced to her companion, a look of satisfaction about her. "Mission accomplished."

Sabre could not begin to imagine what Pan had promised them, what lies and promises had been told to buy their obedience.

"Are you sure about that?" the boy questioned with a tint of petulance. His voice was soft, still light, implying to her he'd yet to enter adolescence. "'Cause my mom's coming to get me. _Both _of them."

Their voices shared the same lifts and tones as several of the Lost Boys, Sabre noted fleetingly.

Her features immediately sharpened in focus as the odd man stepped closer to the younger. "You know, I'm gonna take a look around, kid. You see any clock towers?" he gestured to make his point; "You're a long way from Storybrooke."

"_Storybrooke_," Sabre found herself mouthing beneath the mask before she could stop herself, watching the two adults look around the strange, wild land. She had been very much the same upon her own arrival.

"It doesn't matter," the boy protested. There was something in his voice Sabre recognised. The certainty, the earnestness, the faith. The child had no doubts at all, and she didn't know whether to look on in fondness or displeasure. "My family's been to the Enchanted Forest before, and they can get here again."

As he spoke, a distant howling whistled on the air. It could have easily been mistaken for animal howls, as the newcomers probably believed it to be. Completely still, Sabre watched them look around again, more frantic than curious.

"Well, we're not in the _Enchanted Forest_," the woman corrected with a mocking edge to her tone. "This is Neverland," her eyes and smile lifted assuredly. Sabre's face altered in scorn, yet felt more pity than she was prepared to admit. _Poor bastard fools._

A little confidence was shaken from the boy, his eyebrows left raised, eyes widened. "Neverland?" he repeated, the name somehow familiar on his tongue. "You're here to destroy Neverland?"

"It's the mother lode of magic," she looked back tensely to her male counterpart, who was rummaging in his pack. "Oh, where's the communicator? We need to signal the Home Office."

_What in the Red Hell did Pan tell these people?_

Her eyes squinted as he handed the woman a strange black device – whatever it was – "Here you go, T."

_So, they must be familiar. _

_Gods, they really believe this._

"An office in the jungle?" the boy questioned incredulously, self-assurance restored. "Huh. Who works there?" A tiny smile pulled at Sabre's lips.

The man hauled his pack over his shoulders, getting ready to step over Neverland's threshold. "Who we work for is not your concern, kid," he barked backed. "Just know that they take care of us."

"Do they? Can they tell you how to get back home _after_ you destroy magic?" the younger challenged.

"We don't ask questions. We just believe in our cause."

_Bastard fool._

"Greg?" the woman's voice trailed as she poked at the odd _communicator_ device, brow now furrowed.

Greg looked over. "Yeah?"

She sighed irritably, "I'm not getting a status light on this thing," and held it out to her partner.

Sabre watched him fumble around with it, still having no idea of what it was or what purpose it served. "Did you check the batteries?" he pulled it apart, and Sabre had no inkling if it was _supposed_ to do that or not, and a fine grainy substance poured out and scattered to the ground. Sand. The creasing of Greg's brow was enough to inform her that something had clearly malfunctioned.

The woman stepped closer to examine the faulty device. "What the hell is this? A toy?"

"It's a good thing you guys don't ask any questions," the boy said, not sharing the growing confusion of his captors.

Greg turned sharply to the woman, "Let's go," then to the boy and barked, "Walk."

The boy knew better this time and did as he was told though Greg still shoved him nonetheless, following close behind. However the woman lingered, and Sabre had seen the look on her face a thousand times over, far too many times. Believing she was unseen, the woman betrayed the festering of doubt that there was something beyond their righteous conquest against the forces of magick, and it all showed, painfully clear to Sabre's eyes, in the soft contortion of her features. Hesitantly, she followed her two companions, and Sabre shadowed.

Light on foot, no better than a shade, the Lost Girl crept along the jungle paths, moving more alongside the party than behind, shielded under the cover of darkness and twisted foliage. She tracked their every move, and knew that her path couldn't cross with the boys' who would, undoubtedly, already be on their way. The Truest Believer and his captors didn't venture too far before deciding to make camp in a small clearing. Sabre found another safe spot to watch from, thinking them rather wise for such a decision. They knew nothing of the land they had entered. Neither did they have means of protecting themselves.

Greg gathered stones into a circle and piled sticks and dry grass and leaves in the middle. He then pulled an odd-looking box from his pack and pulled what looked like a match from that, striking it along the side of the box to light it. Holding it against some of the grass, he waited for a flame to start and leaned over to give air to it.

"We making s'mores?" the boy asked derisively, standing with his hands still tied.

Unimpressed, Greg sat up on his knees and brushed his palms together. "No. Building a signal," he angled his head to address the woman, who had lagged a little behind the entire way; "Help me gather some dry leaves. We need to let the Home Office know that we're here."

_Oh, they already know. _Sabre knew that, to Pan, these souls were inconsequential, and therefore their use would be outlived before long. While, to her, nobody was truly inconsequential. It mattered not how easily she could supress the urge to unveil herself and help them to safety, but that it still lived within her.

_You people should never have come here._

"What if that's not enough?" the woman sighed, arms folded anxiously over her chest. "What if the empty communicator wasn't an accident?"

"Don't let the kid get in your head," Greg's reply was firm.

From behind them, almost ahead of Sabre, came a rustling. It was purposefully loud, alerting the newcomers instantly, and Sabre's jaw set.

Felix was the first to emerge, as she knew he would, that inelegant, ugly club slung over his shoulders, hood worn up, and the rest of the pack wasn't far behind, all making themselves known. Defenceless and outnumbered, Sabre knew well of the panic the newcomers must have felt. She thought about moving so she could see both sides equally well, however decided the risk would not be worth it.

"Who are you?" Greg demanded unevenly.

Felix's smirk was signature; "We're the Home Office. Welcome to Neverland."

"The 'Home Office' is a bunch of _teenagers_?" the woman spoke in disbelief, and Sabre could only imagine her expression as one of unnerved confusion, as everything unravelling around them.

"They're not teenagers," the Truest Believer spoke up. "They're the Lost Boys."

Sabre's brow furrowed heavily under the mask. _Now, how do you know that? How could you know?_

Felix dragged his gaze up and down the boy's stature. "Look at that."

"Why do the Lost Boys want to destroy magic?" he demanded imploringly.

"Who said we wanna destroy magic?" Felix inclined his head, darkness in the edge of his voice, feigning ignorance.

"That was our mission," Greg said, stepping towards Pan's right-hand as if trying to reason with him.

But Felix only shrugged. "So you were told. Yes," like a hawk, his gaze shifted. "Now the boy. Hand him over."

"Not until you tell us the plan – for magic, for getting home," the woman moved to stand in front of the boy, placing herself between him and the Lost Ones.

The smile Felix responded with was wry, and the way he glanced down briefly only testified his mocking. Edging closer, he stared Greg right in the face, and spoke slowly; "You're _not_ getting home."

There was a moment of silence; clearly the newcomers were weighing their slim options.

"Then you're not getting the boy," Greg's tone lowered, evened out, as though he honestly believed there was a choice, or a way out somehow.

The silence that followed made Sabre's skin crawl.

_Any second now…_

A cold bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face, under the mask. _Run, just run._

Felix scoffed, inching a little closer. He exceeded the grown man in height and liked that he could look down at him, down _on_ him. "Of course we are."

Something shifted in the winds.

Sabre knew it was all too late as the air plunged into ice. Descending from the night with a ghost-like roar, a black and faceless entity swooped down almost too quickly for the human eye to see. With a distorted growl, the creature grasped at Greg's back, grasping at something intangible to human hands, and _wrenched_.

As if deaf to the man's screams, the shadow – _his _shadow – ripped the humanoid silhouette that was Greg's own shade with the ease of tearing wet parchment yet with a sound like cracking bones and tearing muscles. The breath that fuelled his cry was severed, and the body, a cold husk, thudded to the ground. The fire blazed with a malice of its own and, despite the distance from it, Sabre flinched violently.

Holding its newest prize, slumped in its arms, the shadow looked down on the mortal form, as if to admire their work, before ascending with the same swiftness into the night.

"Run!" the woman cried out to the boy and they both spiralled to flee, heading in polar directions; Sabre had to press herself into the darkness so the female wouldn't discover her as she ran past, while trying to keep the Truest Believer in her sight.

"Get the boy," Felix spoke, so unnervingly relaxed in the face of chaos and death.

One of the boys with him, Kiko, drew his bow and with not an ounce of hesitation loosed an arrow that struck the woman in the centre of her back. Sabre's fingers curled, body cold and rigid as the woman was taken to the ground. _If the arrow itself didn't kill her then the Dreamshade will._ It took all her will to not move an inch.

The two pawns were dead, their minor significance was reduced to nothing, and the patrol of Lost Ones left the corpses where they were, setting off in pursuit of the Truest Believer.

Under her suffocating veil, Sabre's skin burned feverishly yet her blood remained cold. She stepped out from her hiding place, not allowing even a moment to look properly at either of the bodies. With suddenly too much energy to dispel, she took off after Felix's party. She couldn't stay back any longer. So long as she didn't get in the way and the boy didn't run into her. Her companions were easy to follow, not that they were employing much stealth – they wanted to the boy to know he was being hunted – but she only pursued a short distance. _Pan will intervene soon, _and then the Lost Boys would be left following a cold trail, meanwhile Pan would put the boy to the first test.

In this preliminary stage, her task was simple – stay out of the way until the boy was secured.

Sabre backtracked to the small clearing when the hunting party began shouting, signalling they'd _lost track _of the boy. The fire was still lit, the bodies still there, and the air still bitter cold.

She went to the woman first, and no longer fought the pang in her chest; she hadn't even known the poor soul's name. Blood stained her overcoat, yet the arrow was gone, leaving the wound open to bleed, and there was a tiny pile of ash not a yard from her head.

But she was growing cold. Sabre put her fingers under the woman's jaw and found only silence. _Someone else has been here._

A little twig snapped. Behind the mask, Sabre's top lip lifted as she spun to face the noise, pulling her dagger from her belt without a thought needed. "Oh, Tink," she sighed in relief as the familiar face made itself known, shoulders slumping heavily and sheathing the weapon. "Don't sneak up like that. I get enough of that already." She lifted her mask, the pale scars on her face dimly reflecting the firelight, and drew in an unhindered breath of chilled air.

"Sabre, your face," the fairy gasped when she looked up, silently demanding an explanation for the violent splash of red on her cheek.

She shrugged almost too unconcernedly. "Made the mistake of playing the Rufio card. Although, he did start it," she then paused, passing a fleeting glance to nowhere; "D'you think I'll leave the same mark on him?"

Tink shook her head, a crease forming at her brow. "What are you talking about?"

Sabre glanced away, lips pursed. "Hm? Never mind."

"It's started, then," Tink said after a pause, stepping slowly around the clearing, examining the two bodies.

"The sooner begun, the sooner done," the other sighed wearily.

"But how many more dead bodies are there going to be?" Tink opened Greg's pack and started rummaging through it.

"Really?" Sabre slumped against a tree, and pulled off the mask completely. "After everything we've seen?"

Their eyes met tensely and they tried to breach the other's mind. Tink never completely relaxed around Sabre anymore, not that Sabre could truly blame her, yet was still more at ease with her than any other inhabitant of the paradise-clad hell. Keeping as far away as possible had always been her protection, and it had allowed her to witness the transformation of each Lost One. She's seen the girl take on a hide that she'd not carried with her in the early days, and now Tink was afraid to know if it could still be removed, if it was still to protect all that lay within.

"Do two more dead bodies _really_ cap the limit?" Sabre resumed, fingers running absently along the ridge of the one of the mask's ears.

"No, I think it was capped quite some time ago," the rugged fairy snapped.

"If one dead soul doesn't exceed the limit then no number will," the tired girl sighed. "We both know full well that Pan doesn't abide by limits, and soon he won't have any. All we can do is work quietly and stay in his good graces," Sabre's curiosity perked and she crouched to examine the dead woman's body again, as if in hope that she'd missed something.

"Yeah, well I'm staying out of it," Tink stated as she knelt down on the other side of the corpse. Her dainty fingers brushed over the arrow wound. Sabre knew that she too was wondering where the arrow had gone.

"I wish I had that option. Would be better late than never," the girl turned her attention to the bundle of grey ash before she could be drawn too far down another path. "Now, what is _that?_ Because I'm guessing this wasn't you."

Tink leaned over and took a pinch of the ash between her thumb and forefinger. She lifted it to eye level. "It's her heart. Or it was. I think this is what killed her."

"Her _heart_?" Sabre parroted, mouth agape.

"Some magic users can pull your heart from your body. They can use it to control you, or to kill you by squeezing it to ash," Tink explained, brushing her hands off.

_I hate magick._ "Do you think it was Pan?"

She shook her head. "He can do it, but no, I don't think it was. I don't think you need reminding of his favourite ways to murder a person. Someone else is here."

"Though, I admit, I wasn't quite expecting the shadow. The boy," Sabre paused for a breath, forcing the next word onto her tongue, "_Henry_ said his family were coming for him. If that's true, my bet is on one of them. Though I didn't see anyone, did you?"

"No, not yet. If anyone is coming then Pan will know about it. Then again, I think you would know too," the fairy rose to her petite height and brushed herself down, watching as Sabre averted her eyes with a tightened jaw. "Are you really going to help him kill that boy?"

Sabre followed suit in brushing herself down, taking one last look at the bodies before staring Tink right in the face. "You say that like I have a choice."

Tink folded her arms, expression stern. "There's always a choice."

Brushing off the sting at the other woman's demeanour as best she could, Sabre kept her features neutral as she tilted onto one hip. "You know I've never held with that sentiment." _There may always be a choice, but sometimes there's only one way forward. _

"You didn't answer my question," she pressed when Sabre said no more. "I've known you a long time. You're the only Lost One that never _lost_ themselves to him completely. So, are you?"

Looking to the fire, Sabre let out a resigned sigh, much like the one Valdemarr had given as he apologised for what he was about to do. Her soul was already going to burn. "I'm going to do what needs to be done."

_And then perhaps I can begin to forgive myself._

* * *

**Hope you liked it!**

**Before this story goes any further I wanted to ask you, my lovely readers, if you would like me to continue Delirium beyond the end of season 3a where we'd see Sabre getting her side of the deal to avenge Rielus? **

**This would be a big break from the series and take us into almost 100% original ****material but this is because this series has been an amazing opportunity to practice writing and test the waters with ideas, characters and plots etc. I've been working on for a number of years for an original novel series, which was actually the reason I chose OUAT as the fandom to write in because I have a very major character who was rather like Pan in his inspirations and that was why I've drawn more associations from Pan as a mythological figure than as Barrie constructed him. That and I loved Robbie's performance as Pan. **

**And of course, this would mean taking down this whole series once it's completed when I go on to fully write my original novels, though it wouldn't be for a fair while. So, if you would like to see the arc of Sabre's revenge or would prefer to leave it around the end of the 3a mark, let me know. Seriously, this one is on you guys. If it's the only review you ever leave me, let it be this one.**

**Thanks again everyone!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Huge thank you to everyone who's given their support so far, truly means the world to me! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Innocence itself sometimes hath need of a mask ~ Polish proverb

* * *

Pan was alone when Felix found him.

Habit had insisted that he wear both cloak and hood despite the warmness of the new day. He felt a certain fragility without them that he would never admit.

The Boy-King was occupied with sharpening his dagger, and when he detected the approach of his cherished favourite, a roguish grin spread across his face, eyes like virid stars as he lifted his gaze to see the other boy slip into the clearing. It was the happiest Felix had seen his king in a long time.

"We have the boy?" Felix's question was close to purely rhetorical. He sat down next to Pan, close, and laid his club by his leg. The campfire could be spotted in the distance if the low plants danced the right way in the breeze.

"Now, did you ever doubt me?" the Boy-King all but purred the way he always did when pleased, and sheathed the dagger with a nimble flick of his fingers. "But the others will come. They've reached Neverland's shores already."

Somehow that didn't surprise Felix one bit. He observed his king carefully, lest anything betray him in those quiet moments. For centuries, he had waited, and Felix had waited with him.

Those steely grey eyes didn't even flicker as Pan caught them. "How was our old friend? Did he like my gift?"

They only ignited in response. "It was just as you predicted. The mighty Dark One, brought to tears by a doll," a smirk was shared between them. "But it's even more pitiful that he believes there's a chance to rescue the boy."

"No need to stop them all from trying. I'll keep an eye on our dear Dark One," Pan said without losing the knife edge at his lips; there was a toy he didn't think he'd ever have the chance to play with again. That had been a lovely little surprise. "I'm sure he's got a grudge to settle. He was always such an emotional boy from what I remember. I daresay even you wouldn't believe it."

Felix's gaze held onto the other's morning-lit features, and knew that unfathomable mind was at work. It nearly amused the Lost Boy to think that the little, teary eyed boy Pan had told him of all that time ago had grown up to become one of the most powerful sorcerers in creation. But, no, the Dark One didn't worry him one bit. As for the others…

Ants, the lot of them, and Pan was going to step on every last one.

"Do you think we can trust Sabre in this?" he questioned after an interregnum of quiet. "I've not doubted her in a long time…but this is different. It all comes down to this."

In all those long years, the girl had always kept him – kept everyone – at a distance, so often bound by silence, and Felix had quickly understood that the unspoken law to scarcely speak of life before Neverland had been one she was all too happy to keep amongst her brothers. He knew he would never learn of what she imparted to Pan, so it disinterested him. Just as she, or any other soul, would never learn of what _he_ had imparted to the wild god.

However, experience had taught him enough. There was something wild and dangerous in her blood.

She was wise, sharp, but guided by a heart pledged to all that was foreign to the heart of his king.

"Relax, Fee. She's known better for a _long_ time. I know where her loyalties lie. She can be trusted to keep her end of the bargain. I know she may need a little _guidance_; after all, she's still such an innocent little thing on the inside. But she'll play her part as I decide; I guaranteed that years ago," Pan assured him smoothly, turning those emerald orbs back towards the taller boy from where they had been lingering in the clearing, and Felix watched him the way he always had when he was thinking about being kissed. Something closely akin to affection enflamed for a brief moment, before Pan shattered it, his gaze picking out the distant flicker of flames. "You should know better than to worry by now. The game's only just started, and it's our move next."

* * *

Henry supposed that the Lost Boy's camp was as he was expected to be - crude huts, sleep rolls made from bamboo and animal pelts, fire pits, tools and weapons; everything had been adapted from the wilds, and they lived as a part of the island. Many of the faces he scoured with narrowed eyes seemed to be older than him, considerably so, and were nothing like the adorable boys dressed like animals from the movies.

He couldn't believe Pan had fooled him! By proving himself with the pixie dust, he'd made himself Pan's most wanted prize. He should have known better by then. It was not the Neverland from the wishful stories he had set foot in.

It would be all right, though. His family were coming for him, they'd find him – he didn't doubt it for a moment. They _always_ found each other, no matter the odds.

The walls built up by his mothers had always hindered him somehow, trapped on one side or the other and trying to scale his way over but now he was starting to see why. Alone, vulnerable, stubborn and fierce, it might have been time for him to lay down some walls of his own. Emma would be grieved. Regina would be proud.

One of the boys, named Prentiss, had been instructed to show him the ropes of the camp and, despite his unshaken faith, the way he was introduced to everything unnerved him; he wasn't to be released any time soon. Prentiss was amicable enough, and Henry followed silently, nodding his assents and confirmations with the occasional brief word or hum. He was quick to notice that the Lost Boys moved in packs, small and large, so when he saw a solitary cloaked figure, his attention was keen to be captured.

"Who's that?" he asked, looking up at Prentiss then back to the lone figure.

Prentiss followed Henry's gaze to see who he was speaking of. "That's Sabre."

Henry's brow furrowed. There were no Lost Boys in the stories called Sabre, but then there were far more Lost Boys on Neverland than in the, rather inaccurate, portrayals. The lone Lost Boy had nothing occupying his hands; he was just sitting there, face hidden by a mask crafted to mimic the face of a dog. "Has he been here long?" he couldn't help but ask.

Prentiss' thin lips pulled in a small smirk. "A few decades I think, give or take. Time is strange on Neverland. Well, I'll leave you to get to know the others." Before Henry could even come up with a reply, Prentiss had slunk away and joined one of the packs, leaving him very much alone.

Taking in a breath, Henry's eyes darted around for Pan, and found him nowhere. Every second unoccupied, his mind raced all the faster.

How could Pan have possibly managed a whole operation from Neverland, found Greg and Tamara – of all people – and persuaded them that magic was evil so they would help destroy it? But then Henry supposed Pan was right. It _was_ easier to nurture hate than belief, as much as he wished it wasn't so. Even in his few years he'd seen it happen, in life and in the stories entrusted to him. Not for him, though. He sighed; that's why Pan wanted him, his heart. Because he believed. Better than most, Henry knew the power of belief, but why Pan had sought him out and what he wanted from him – that, Henry did not know.

Knowing that there'd be at least a little time to kill before his family found and rescued him, Henry decided to approach the detached Lost Boy.

The loner noticed him before he even got close. Not a sound was made as they turned and raised their head, one fluid motion followed by complete stillness, like a deer catching a scent. Henry almost stepped back for it. Beneath the mask, and in the early light, a pair of eyes struck him, soul deep. He took a gulp, continuing his approach timorously.

"H-Hi," he began, not liking that his voice held a little shake in it – he cleared his throat, trying to remember all he had learnt from Regina's hip. "I'm Henry. I-I was told your name was Sabre."

The Lost Boy said nothing, and barely even blinked as they regarded him, unreadable. Henry's tummy coiled, finding he couldn't escape those dark eyes, and that his lessons were worth nothing against them. The other then lifted their hand, smaller than he'd expected, holding it out, and it took Henry a moment to realise they were offering a handshake.

He exhaled with a relief and shook Sabre's hand, which was surprisingly warm in his grip. His mothers' lessons came more easily then. "Mind if I sit?"

Still not uttering a word, Sabre gestured to the spot next to him. Henry smiled gratefully and sat down a little gingerly, wondering if it was possible that the boy was mute, but didn't want to risk the embarrassment of asking.

"I don't suppose you could tell me why Pan wants me?" he said instead.

As expected, the Lost Boy shook his head, though it wasn't what surprised him; beneath the dog mask, Sabre's eyes seemed close to sorrowful, even regretful, a look he had seen enough times over.

Henry looked down at his feet. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

The cold air was beginning to creep in; he drew his coat tighter around himself, staying hunched over to keep some warmth preserved. How long would he have to wait before he was rescued?

He was surrounded by other boys, and had never felt so alone in his life. Neverland wasn't a place for him, never would be. Home was the only place he wanted to be. His thoughts wandered to hot cocoa with cinnamon at _Granny's_, Operation Cobra and every time his family had found each other, no matter the odds. It wasn't enough to stop the shivering.

A warm weight settled on his shoulders. Initially, Henry tensed with unease. Then, looking up, he saw that Sabre had taken off his own cloak and was wrapping it carefully around him instead.

He wished he could see the face under the mask. "Thanks," he said quietly.

* * *

By the early afternoon of that same day, Sabre had grown drowsy enough to drag herself to Pan's hut to rest before nightfall, with her own still occupied. Disrobing her mask and the top layers of her clothing, having left her cloak with Henry, she felt light enough to fly; however, collapsing into the bed was far more appealing.

Dealing with the boy had been more taxing than watching Pan's two pawns being murdered in cold blood. She couldn't bear to think about it.

Above all, she had to keep her heart dormant, and so far, it wasn't working as well as she'd hoped or planned.

_It's the only way,_ she begrudgingly reminded herself, for the thousandth time. Already her conscious mind was slipping away, her muscles relaxing and ready to rest.

The peaceful journey to sleep was interrupted only moments later by the approach of sure-footed steps.

"Do you need me?" she grumbled, voice mildly muffled by the pillow against her face.

The bed dipped, a hint of warmth brushing against her arm. "Not until tonight, pup," a large hand stroked the back of her head. The low smoothness of his voice did little for her ability to stay awake either. "I'm off to see the Saviour. See what we're up against."

"That's Henry's mother, yes?" Sabre grumbled, eyes still closed.

"One of them."

"Remind me of your plan?"

Pan's hand continued to slowly stroke. "I'm going to give her the map that will lead her to Henry."

"Why would you do that?" Sabre's words nearly slurred with lethargy.

The Boy-King snickered. "It's not just any map, silly girl. However, knowing our _heroes_, they'll try to find some way to get around solving my puzzle, and tonight we'll be ready for them. Don't worry, Henry will be far away."

"_Mmhm_," she breathed out, sensing the conversation was over. Although it still plucked a tiny cord when she felt Pan's weight ease from the bed and heard his retreating footsteps.

"Oh, and by the way," his voice sounded from the other end of the room, "our mutual _pirate_ friend has accompanied this little rescue party. Just so you aren't taken by surprise. We both remember what happened last time."

Eyes opening, Sabre found the strength to lift her head and look over her shoulder. Pan was already gone, while his words repeated silently. The scar on her neck ached. _Killian… He's come back? How is he mixed up in this?_ The last time she'd seen of him was the day Rufio died. And the last thing either of them had expected for many years was to ever cross blades with each other. She'd seen his heart fracture in the space of a moment. She'd never looked for him since.

"Oh, fucking hell," she sighed exhaustedly, and her head collapsed back onto the pillow, eyes falling closed.

It hardly felt like even a moment had passed before Sabre felt a hand shake her, just shy of painfully.

Groaning in the back of her throat, she opened her eyes, not looking all too pleased as she lifted her head. _Of course it's Felix… Who else would it be apart from Felix?_ She'd lost count of how many times he'd kicked or shaken her awake, or been the first face she had to deal with in the morning.

"I'm coming," she growled out, heaving herself up. "You bastard," she added in a mutter.

The shaggy-haired boy waited while she donned her over-clothes and hood, but left her mask. "You might want to bring a weapon."

"Into battle? You really do hit the nail on the head _every _time," Sabre drawled back, meanwhile contemplating _what_ to bring with her. "Come on," she swept passed Felix, slipping out of the hut and jogging to the armoury hut with no hindrance from the dark, well adapted.

It was an unspoken rule that another's weapons were not to be used, had been for as long as nearly anyone could remember. Many of the other boys were hastily preparing, readying themselves for the likely fight; there was plenty of Dreamshade going around. Sabre strapped the short sword, the one that had been at her side for near forty years, given to her by Tiger Lily, around her hips, the leather sheath able to secure at her thigh with another fastening, and decided to bring her bow as well. Crossbows had never been much to her taste. Her quiver, already filled with sharp arrows, had a familiar and pleasing weight at her back but, unlike the others, she had not touched a drop of the Dreamshade.

The surface of her skin tingled, trapped between an equally potent relief and nausea. _Killian's come back... _She struggled to understand what was taking hold of her, and didn't have the time or energy to contemplate it. A different kind of power surged in her muscles, reaching as deep as her bones, a need.

A need for battle that she'd carried long before Neverland.

In the heat of the moment, all that mattered was fighting, struggling, surviving. Years of practice made it almost effortless to fall into that controlled trance; she didn't miss the days where it almost ripped her apart to let go. All else was taken away, for a while. _A sad fact that war soothes me more than peace._ Perhaps that'd change, one day. Perhaps not.

Departing the camp, Slightly was the one to surmise the strategy; Henry's family – the so-called _heroes_ – had attempted to use a locator spell to lead them to Pan, and therefore to Henry. As Pan had predicted. Sabre had even remarked about the rather gapping flaw in their plan as she ran alongside Slightly to one of the other, newer and currently unused, camps. They were to surround the Truest Believer's rescuers without detection, and engage when the order was given. Pan was to appear solitary before them; outnumbered, deceptively vulnerable to those who had not faced him before.

The Lost Ones scattered silently under cloaks, hoods and masks. Sabre took a safe position and steadied her breathing. Turning and looking ahead, she could see Pan, and her eyes briefly narrowed to see him wearing what appeared to be a replicate of Henry's outlandish clothes. His eyes found her as he looked over his shoulder, startlingly swift. He winked, wearing a mischievous grin. Suddenly, without her mask donned, Sabre felt bare and unprotected; she couldn't share his glee, but under the mask it wouldn't have mattered.

The foliage rustled. Sabre ducked down, breath caught.

She peeped out and counted five adult figures emerge cautiously. The third of her count was Killian.

Throat dry and heart still, Sabre swallowed uncomfortably and wished more than ever that the mask was adorned. She tried to gaze at her old enemy and even older friend, finding her will was not that strong.

Would their blades come to cross again?

Had he meant to kill her when he left that fine cut to her throat?

Sabre bowed her head, eyes squeezed shut in trying to banish those thoughts into nothing. They were not things she could dwell upon now. A final swallow and summoning of resolve, Sabre lifted her gaze and forced it to scour over the other figures.

A woman, with golden hair pale as the dawn, rushed forward ahead. Henry's mother, the saviour, Emma. The look on her face was all too familiar.

Sabre turned away again, helpless and weakened, and shut her eyes.

"Henry!" Emma called out with a glimmering burst of hope.

Opening her eyes under the weight of duress, Sabre watched it snuff from existence as it was Pan who turned around. "Hi, Emma."

The rest of her companions rushed forwards, unaware of the shadowy figures ready to descend like smoke, closing the gap with their own leader. Asides from Killian and Emma, Sabre did not recognise who had come. She noted them quickly - the woman to Emma's right had a dark fierceness about her, even darker hair dusting shoulders that were clad by a bold blue garment; the man behind was darkly dressed with lighter hair, a noble soul that could be seen burning from a mile away; and the woman beside him shone the same, with unveiled eyes under an impish mop of pitch black hair, a bow slung on her back. _It's easier if you don't know their names,_ she told herself.

_Sometimes._

"Where the hell is Henry?" Emma demanded.

Pan began to pace leisurely, unintimidated, as if he hadn't even heard her. "You broke the rules. That's not fair. Bad form," he reprimanded, head tilted to the side. "I expect more from _you_, Captain."

"Aye, and you'll get it," Killian snarled back.

"Give Henry to me," Emma spoke up, the edge of a plea in her voice, and Sabre had to look away again.

"Sorry, can't," Pan continued strolling, his gait perfectly at ease. "Don't you know?" he came to stop, almost directly in front of where Sabre was crouched. "Cheaters never win."

The jungled suddenly erupted with life as the Lost Boys unveiled themselves, howls and other ungodly sounds on their lips. Taking the bow from her back, Sabre sprung into motion along with them, and took her place at Pan's flank. She nocked an arrow, holding the bow low, ready to be drawn.

In the confusion, she was just another face, one that, with a hood, could pass easily enough as androgynous. It was only Killian who saw her.

For the blink of an eye, Sabre thought she saw the tiniest flicker of relief before his face hardened. And it hurt. Tight lipped, jaw locked if only to keep from trembling, Sabre gripped the bow a little tighter, itching to loose the arrow, if only to release _something_.

The heroes readied themselves in kind, drawing their own weapons, ready to face the far larger army. Sabre couldn't decide if it was admirably brave or completely foolish.

"Watch out for their arrows. They're laced with Dreamshade," Killian warned his companions, body priming.

_Fool it is. _

He'd barely finished speaking when the first arrows were let loose, hurtling mercilessly through the air. Sabre grit her teeth and loosed her first arrow, changing her aim suddenly to the unfamiliar man. In the last moment she tried to_ just_ miss.

With amazing prowess, he deflected the arrows with the false edge of his blade, one after the other, while his archer companion shot back her arrows; Sabre was quick to become aware that they were to stun or halt, not even to injure. A few of the pack began to close in, the rest remaining at a range, their arrows raining down.

"Mary Margret!" the swordsman shouted as he threw himself at the woman, pushing her aside to avoid Slightly's well aimed arrow. It skimmed his clothes, tearing them like a razor's edge.

"David," she gasped fearfully, loud enough for Sabre to catch, but it didn't look as though the arrow had pierced his skin.

"Behind you!" David yelled; Mary Margret spun on her heels, firing with adept smoothness that only pinned her attacker's cloak to the tree behind him.

Still from her vantage position, Sabre watched as Prentiss, Hawkin and Devin charged at the woman whose name Sabre still hadn't caught. A purple light surged from her hand, propelling all three back like ragdolls. Baring her teeth, Sabre nocked, aimed and loosed an arrow. It whisked past the woman's dark head, distracting her long enough for the three boys to spring back on their feet. Sabre's head snapped back into the main fray, and her throat ran dry again, heart screeching to a sick halt. Felix had locked weapons with Killian.

She didn't know who it was she wanted to shoot more.

Clenching her bow in an iron grip, she raced down the slope towards them, and heard Killian snarl a taunt to Felix about Rufio, awakening a venomous fire to seep into her blood. Her hands nearly trembled as she grounded herself to nock an arrow. Killian gained the upper hand and shoved Felix back, taking the boy's balance from him. Taking a moment, Sabre adjusted her aim by a fraction and shot.

Time slowed down in her eyes, breath hitched as the arrow sailed through the air. As if she was standing right there, Sabre saw the tip glide perfectly through the first few layers of skin on Killian's neck, drawing hot blood. The rest of the world sped up again at the herald of the man's clenched cry. _I hope that your scar burns like mine, _Sabre lowered her bow.

Felix seized his chance while he could and raised his club high to bring it crashing down on the pirate, a ferocious growl reverberating through his jaw. Sabre ripped her attention away before she could see what came next, and her eyes speedily affixed on the Saviour.

The pale woman was wrestling with one boy after the next, advancing on Pan's side of the bank. Getting too close…

Sabre bolted, hurling off the quiver, and tackled the woman from the side, letting go of her bow as she pounced like a wild dog. The fever of battle kept away the pain of their brutal collision. The two gripped ferociously at each other as they tumbled down the slope of the bank, already fighting against the other's strength in their disorientation. Sabre felt her back collide with the ground, away from Pan, the breath knocked from her lungs. Emma was above her, pinning the girl down, ready with a Lost Boy's dagger at her throat.

"Where's Henry?!" she roared, voice torn apart. "_Where is he?!_"

Her_ eyes…_ The unbridled wildness and fierceness of a mother, that untameable rage and fear, the loss of all control. In that second, Emma ripped down into her very soul, as if it was all _her_ fault for taking Henry away from her.

Sabre was still. Terror shook her breath. All she could do was look up at the Saviour, whose body was quaking and eyes were blown wide.

But, as Emma looked back into the eyes of the Lost One, something changed, and Sabre knew in that next moment her life would be spared.

Emma breathed out, the mad, desperate rage seeping away, and suddenly she climbed off of Sabre, stumbling to her feet.

"Emma, are you all right?" asked Mary Margret.

Before Emma could answer, Pan whistled. Sabre scrambled to her feet, her hood now down, long braid hanging loose and rugged, and retreated with the Lost Boys back to their leader, returning to Pan's flank with Felix.

"Remember what I told you," Pan said, stepping towards the rival clan. "That map will show you where Henry is only when you stop denying who you really are. I'll make sure to send Henry your regards." He turned away and the air filled with the shouting and whooping of the Lost Boys as they descended back into the dark woods.

Sabre looked back, the truth of her identity now exposed, and found each of the heroes gawping at her sheer, defiant existence.

Unable to look any of them in the eye, she turned forward and hurried to catch up and overtake her companions, close to collapsing under the weight of her shame.

* * *

Morning light bled through into the heroes' makeshift camp, silence and staggered hope tainting the air. Sat with her back to the fire, Emma looked at the blank map, _angry._ Angry at the map, angry at Pan, but most of all enraged with herself. Her shoulders grew stiff when Mary Margret sat down besides her, the other woman's body angled towards her.

"Please talk to me," Mary Margret pleaded softly.

"There's nothing to talk about," Emma's response was crisp. "We had our chance and we lost – _I_ lost."

Mary Margret's hands clasped together. "Then you have to keep fighting."

"You heard what Hook said. Pan is a _demon._"

"And you are a-,"

"What?" Emma interjected brusquely. "A Saviour? Because if that were true, this map would have shown us the way already." God, she could have torn up that damned map, burnt it then stomped on its ashes.

Nothing, _nothing,_ was on their terms, and it made her scream inside. Emma tossed the map to the ground by her aching feet.

Somehow, Mary Margret was still calm – infuriatingly so – and she paused thoughtfully. "Maybe who you think you are isn't who you really are," she wondered pensively.

"What do you mean?" Emma muttered tersely, her pale eyes cast straight ahead.

"Sometimes we think we know ourselves, but we need a push to show us the reality," the other explained soothingly, but Emma looked away irritably. "That girl who attacked you – you stopped fighting her. Why?"

"'Cause she was…just a girl," Emma's voice began to tremble, remembering those dark, frightened, unhappy eyes, too old for the young face she'd looked into.

Regina cut in – she, Hook and Charming having been within earshot of their conversation – "Pan has Lost_ Girls_ now, too?"

"No," Killian was the one to answer; Emma and Mary Margret turned to face the pirate. "She's the only one."

"You know her?" David asked, his arms folded.

The other caught himself before he could stray too far. "Aye. Her name is Sabre."

"Who is she?" Regina demanded impatiently.

Killian dragged his gaze irritably to the Evil Queen. "Yes, I was _getting _to that," he took a swig of rum, savouring it, especially after he'd had to waste some in cleaning his arrow wound. "Some years ago, she spent a brief time on my ship. I found her begging on the borders of the Enchanted Forest, knew that she probably wouldn't survive the winter so I took her on as a cabin boy," he took another swig. "Our first voyage, just as it happened, was here, and Pan gave me a deal – the lives of my crew for the girl. Now, I know the demon is twisted and fickle and unpredictable but I've believed for a long time that he needed her for something; I mean, she's survived this long."

"But she's still working with Pan. Who was it who did that to you?" Regina snapped rhetorically, gesturing to Killian's bandaged neck.

The pirate ground his jaw and the fresh wound gave a particularly harsh twinge. "This wasn't just mindless violence. When my bargain with Pan was completed once and for all, he gave me one final deal: he would allow Sabre to leave with me if I fought for her and help him _thin the herd,_ as he liked to put it_._ I was the reason she was trapped here, it was the least I could do for her. I had believed she was dead for some time; Pan convinced me of that but I knew somewhere that she had to have lived."

"What made you believe that?" Charming asked him, tone notably softer.

"When I was returning here after a month or so, in our world, I saw someone out on the cliffs in the dark, holding out a lantern, bright as the North Star. It would have been about… a year gone on Neverland but in all my time I'd never seen a guiding light, until then. My gut told me it could only be one person. And even after Pan convinced me he'd killed her, the lantern was still there, every time we sailed here," the pirate explained, beginning to drift away.

Regina's huff was grated nonetheless. "Yes, that's a lovely story but if you could get to the point."

In return, Killian's scowl was bitter but he continued; "I took Pan's deal, and when we came ashore, the Lost Boys were waiting for us, just as Pan said. But he said nothing about Sabre leading the charge."

"It was a trap?" Emma surmised.

He took a breath before nodding. "By then Sabre had been stranded here for a very long time and wasn't willing to leave Pan. To this day I don't know what he must have done to make her that way. In the battle, I slew one of Pan's right hands; Rufio, his name was. She came at me with eyes like fire I'd never seen. I knew then there was no way to reach her, so I," Killian swallowed, glancing down.

"What?" Emma prompted curtly. "What did you do?"

"Let's just say that Sabre and I are now going to have matching scars."

Mary Margret's hand slipped up to her mouth, and unsurprisingly David looked appalled, the former softness banished. Killian rolled his eyes inwardly; now the oh-so noble Charming's had _another_ reason to distrust him. It was probably too late to add that the feral girl had nearly split open his gut first in her fury.

"What does any of this have to do with getting Henry back?" Regina barked in agitation. "If she's working with Pan then she's our enemy just as much as he is."

"Regina, maybe it's not that simple," Mary Margret countered reasonably. "Maybe Pan took her away like he took Henry – she's the only girl with him. And it doesn't sound like she was exactly willing to go in the first place," she spared a glance to Killian for his affirmation. "There's got to be a reason for it all. If we could find her, if we get through to her-,"

"I'm not sure that's possible," Killian sighed as he scratched his jaw. "She may not have been able to escape with me but I remember very clearly how she refused to even try, and instead she tried to kill me, very likely on Pan's behalf. And, as much as I don't want to admit, the Queen is right – she _is_ with Pan now, no matter what came before, and there's every chance he's got his claws all the way in. _However_," he paused, "I'm not sure we should leap to any conclusions; she could have killed me today and I believe that she spared me on purpose. There's no way to know what her motivations are from here."

"If anyone was here on their own for that long it makes sense that they'd eventually turn to Pan's side," Mary Margret rationalised, unable to conceive of all those years alone in Neverland; "Who knows what she's had to endure."

"And that's why we have to get to Henry," Emma cut in. "Before the same thing ends up happening to him."

* * *

**Thanks for reading, please tell me what you thought of this chapter.**

**I'm still waiting for a few more inputs on whether you guys would like me to extend Delirium to after the Season 3a arc has come to a close, I'd be happy to go either way so it really is up to you, my friends!**

**p.s. Updates may be a little scarcer as I'm entering into that period of revision before my second year exams so I won't have very much time to edit or write so please do bear with me!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello all, thank you for waiting! Hope you enjoy!**

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_One is less than many ~ Sniper's mantra_

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Sabre's body was wrung with stubborn aches, reminiscent of her earliest days, and walking the distance to Pan's hut to retrieve her mask had done little to aid her state. By the morning, she had barely gained the strength to sit up, let alone to wash, change her clothes and set about doing something. It didn't bode well. Moons ago, she would have been able to shake a scrap like that off within an hour. It was all wrong.

She'd already forgotten whose thigh she was using as a pillow. The muscles in her back and shoulders strained when she took a deep breath, making her groan softly. If she closed her eyes it was oddly easy to forget the number of her brothers who were laying curled up around her, similarly basking in the morning light after the night's ordeal; a few were beginning to chat quietly amongst themselves. Sabre knew there was a good chance that they'd shut up if she told them to, especially the boys who had always known her in the eminent status she'd earned through blood. She couldn't decide if she didn't mind or the lethargy was too great.

She paid little attention to what was being spoken, attention turned on the voices instead_;_ she counted them wearily, ears honing on the boys with the deeper voices.

"That was a fine shot you gave Hook, Sabre," Hayes muttered from a few bodies over, raising his voice enough for her, and those between them, to hear.

Sabre cracked her eyes open, looking over in his general direction though not actually seeing him. "What?"

"Leave it alone, Hayes," Tally interjected boredly.

Hayes propped himself up on his forearms, ignoring Tally, and the others hushed. "I saw you last night. Either you missed or you spared the pirate's life on purpose," his lips formed in a tight smirk, one which Sabre often thought about slapping off. "And we all know you're too a good a shot to have missed at that range."

Sabre let out a drowsy huff, a mistake her sore muscles paid for. _They'll never let me forget, no matter how many suns and moons pass, _she thought. Boys such as Hayes had never grown tired of reminding her of the betrayals and misdemeanours committed before her surrender to Pan, and after.

"Hook scarred me; I scarred him back. I got even, that's what I do," she stated, features hardened as she, too, braced up on her elbows. "Or is this just your way of saying you're jealous that I'm a better shot? I've offered you lessons before. And not that you do it much, but do you think that Pan would want us to kill _any_ of them this early in the game? Because where would be the point in that? Go on, ask him yourself."

Hayes didn't answer, just as she expected, and his gaze shifted like he wasn't sure where to look.

"I thought not," Sabre muttered with an edge of venom, knowing it was mostly the mention of their leader that had kicked him down into submission. _He doesn't want anyone dead just yet. How much of a fool would I be to hope that he decides not to at all?_

It had never been a secret that hierarchy was at play; that was the world Sabre had stepped into. One had to fight and claw their way to a certain status before they could simply go to the wild god and speak their minds, before they'd be _worthy_ of Pan's time. Hayes may have been a Lost One before she'd even set foot on Neverland but whatever favour he might have held had apathetically dwindled over the long years.

"The pirate is Felix's kill, anyway," Alfonso added neutrally. The pack slipped back into silence, mutually agreed on the simple statement.

However, now stirred, the quiet let open the doors of Sabre's mind, to the point where she wished the boys would resume their mutterings. Each time she closed her physical eyes, the eye of her mind would only see the wild, savage face of the Saviour, of a mother who'd lost her son. _And I'm part of it. I'm no better than…_

Sabre's silent voice became erased when she heard that of the Boy-King, knowing the only person he could be speaking to was Henry. Pan's tone, the pace of his words – they were too mild, too sincere and assuring. He'd never been so gentle to her, not even when she'd been as ignorant as Henry was then.

Panicking, Sabre donned her mask before she could be seen. Hayes, Tally, Alfonso, and Paxton got to their feet as Pan drew nearer with Henry, making themselves scarce, and Sabre followed suit without going too far, stepping carefully over the boys who stayed put to rest, muscle wincing in complaint. One of these days her curiosity would bite her up the arse. _Again,_ she picked up a stick and began to sharpen the edge with her knife to give the impression that she, now in the guise of a boy, was occupied and wholly uninterested in what the Truest Believer was hearing.

Sabre observed as Pan and Henry sat down on a mossy log, the first part of their conversation muffled by her hood. In a snap decision, she pulled it down and trusted the mask to keep her identity hidden still.

"I don't belong here," Henry said in reply to whatever Pan had just said.

"Actually, you do," the Boy-King retorted evenly. "We've been waiting for you a very long time, Henry – long before you were even born."

Sabre watched Henry shake his head softly. "I don't believe that."

Pan scoffed. "You _should._ This place runs on imagination, on belief. But your world stopped believing. Magic is dying, and you, Henry, need to save it."

_Don't believe him, sweet one,_ Sabre found herself thinking, the voice in her mind filled with sorrow. _And yet, he must._

"In my world, you mean," Henry said.

"In every world. You need to bring it back," Pan's voice was laden with sincerity and hope. It was unsettling. "That's your destiny; to return the magic, to be the saviour."

"My mom Emma is the saviour, not me."

Dismissively, Pan scoffed again. "Yeah, she broke some curse, yeah," a small grin formed at the sight of Henry's disbelief; "Oh, I know more than you think," and his words made Sabre's knuckles turn white. "But what if breaking the curse wasn't the thing that made her the saviour? What if having _you_ was? Think about it. You're descended from the greatest of light and of dark. What, you think it's a coincidence that the spawn of the Dark One met your mother? You were created for a reason, and I can help you find it."

Henry sighed doubtfully, taking in all the other had said. "So you think _I'm_ supposed to save magic."

"I don't think," Pan answered with complete clarity; "I _believe._ Remember I, uh, said I had something to show you," he reached into a pocket, pulling out a tiny roll of parchment. "Here. I've had this for a very long time, long before you were even thought of. Take a look and you'll know why I'm so sure you're the hero magic has been waiting for."

Sabre felt a bitter laugh rising in the back of her throat, nearly wishing that she could have been drawn in as gently as Henry was. She had never truly or fully understood what Pan had told her all that time ago, always suspicious of something or other, and usually with very good reason, but she might have done if he cajoled her as carefully as he was with Henry.

Pan held the parchment between his fingers, offering it to Henry, and, tentatively, the boy took it, looking up as the older boy stood up. But then, Henry tossed it to the floor. "I don't believe you."

His refusal only made Pan chuckle lightly. "You remind me of your father." With not a further word he strode away, not looking at Sabre or any of the boys as he departed, no doubt leaving Henry's mind whirring as intended.

Sabre and Henry's father had never shared the ground of Neverland. She had only heard of him in whispers no better than myth. Baelfire, the Lost Boy without match; the one who had escaped.

_Or the one that Pan let get away,_ she had often thought when she recalled the tale, and thought it again then.

With nothing more to be overheard, Sabre pulled the hood back up over her head. Dropping the pointlessly sharpened stick and sheathing her knife, she prowled silently over to Henry, who was drowned in his thoughts. He didn't notice her presence until her shadow cast itself over him.

Henry looked up at the dog-masked face. "Did-did you need something?"

Soundless, she inclined her head, gesturing for him to follow.

"Where are we going?" Henry asked hesitantly, getting up to follow her nonetheless. His eyes narrowed as the mute figure only repeated the gesture. Curiosity took over and led his feet to follow, a little deeper into the jungle, away from all eyes and ears. Wandering off alone had never been the best of ideas; now it bordered on suicidal.

"Sabre, what's going on?" Henry demanded; he'd come to a halt, allowing her to create a distance. "Why did you bring me out here?"

He couldn't help but hold his breath as Sabre slowly turned around, then taking even more time to raise her hands, first pulling down her hood. And then, she lifted the mask.

The face that Henry's eyes met was youthful, soft, out of place for the harsh and wild realm. Golden coppery hair, long and tangled, fell around it. The eyes were a dark hazel, thoughtful and wise, and the coral redness of the lips was bold against the pale hue of skin.

"You're," Henry swallowed dryly, "you're a girl! How is that possible? I thought there were no Lost Girls on Neverland."

"There weren't," the light, quiet tone of her voice had him taken aback. "Not until me."

"You let me think you were a Lost Boy," the boy took a wary step back.

"My name _is_ Sabre, that much is true. And _I_ did nothing, you merely made an assumption. A justified one, though, granted," Sabre shrugged.

"Why did you hide it?"

"Plenty of boys wear masks and hoods," she said, only then to sigh. "I'm somewhat cautious, to say the least. I wanted to get my first impression of you before I showed you who I was. You have no idea how important this all is, I had to be careful."

"Are you the only girl in Neverland?" Henry wasted no time in questioning.

"No, there are plenty of girls in the Piccaninny tribe, and then there's Tink," Sabre told him.

"Tink, as in Tinkerbell?" he cut in before she could mention the other Fae and the mermaids.

"That's the one."

The intensity of Henry's intrigued gaze made her stomach twist, yet her face revealed nothing from the inside. A small sigh passed over lips. "I was brought here for a very similar reason as you, and it just so happens that I'm a girl. It could have been a boy, another girl, neither – it could have been anyone," she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. A tightness settled in her heart. "What Pan says is true; magic is dying, like it's bleeding out of the land, and only the Heart of the Truest Believer can heal the wound permanently."

Henry furrowed his brow. "Then why are you here?"

Ignoring the comment on the tip of her tongue, Sabre lowered down on the ground to seat herself, legs crossed. "I'm only the first part of it. I was brought here for having the blood of a Fairest Soul – whatever that means. I gave my blood to Pan, to the land, but there was only so much it could do to keep what little magic there was left alive. I've been here for a long time and we've all been waiting for you to save magic once and for all. You're the only one who can do it. I understand, more than anyone, how…daunting and confusing it all is, but it's the only way. Just know this – you have to be truly willing, or," she drew away, shaking her head, and let the meaning be implied.

Henry had joined her on the ground, not liking to look down at her. "Were you willing?"

Biting her tongue, Sabre glanced at nowhere in particular, after only restoring the bridge between their gazes for a moment. "Not at first, but after I realised there was no other way. I knew what I had to do."

"Do you regret it?" the boy was all too quick to ask.

Gods, if she'd known her role in Pan's game would have required so work for her tongue she might have thought about refusing…

"No," she replied before the boy could think of doubting her. "Pan's done a great deal for me, given me things I couldn't have survived without. But this isn't about me anymore. It's about you."

The boy flicked away an insect hovering incessantly by his ear. "There's still so much I don't understand. I feel like things are being kept from me," he sighed with lax shoulders, head lowering.

"It will all make sense with a little time, I promise," Sabre said, standing with a small wince, and deemed it best not to compromise her aura in the boy's eyes by dusting her arse off. "And if you need me in the meantime, I'll always be close by. You should get back to the camp, straight that way. And hurry."

Henry nodded and followed suit, eyes flickering to the floor and Sabre knew there was something going unsaid, left missing. In farewell, he offered her a half smile, still mildly reluctant to turn his back, and Sabre remained still until she could no longer hear nor see him. The weight on her shoulders broke against the frail dam and pushed down so hard that she crumpled to her knees, deprived of any animating force. She couldn't find the strength to even put her head in her hands no matter how far she pushed for the sake of her own dignity, leaving it hanging low, while, helplessly, she remembered…

_The rooms of Rielus' mother, Evadne, had always carried a floral scent about them. Entering into them was like taking a step into an exquisite garden enclosed by painted walls, the air always sweet and fresh. Clad in armour, as she so often was, Sabariina deemed herself somewhat inappropriately dressed for the High Lady's chambers, entering nonetheless. The soldier found her writing a letter at her beautifully carved desk, the room ethereally bathed in candlelight the hue of liquid gold._

_"You sent for me, your Grace," Sabariina bowed, hand rested over the hilt of her sword, voice quiet against the silence. _

_"Please, no formalities," Evadne looked over with the softest smile. She quickly completed her letter and rose with an elegance that had long been innate to her, pale violet gown billowing like the flutter of a soft breeze. "I am Evadne, not your Grace, you know so. Thank you for coming so quickly."_

_Sabariina stepped a little further into the room, able to see how the High Lady was troubled. "Is something the matter?" _

_Evadne crossed the room, over to the grand dressing table. Her delicate hands reached for a small chest carved from dark imported wood, lifting the lid, drawing an amulet from it. _

_"As I'm sure you are aware, I depart for Aprilia before dawn. These are dangerous times, dear Sabariina. I want you to give this to my Rielus," Evadne glided closer to hold out the amulet for it to be seen by the heavy browed girl. Cast in golden tinted bronze, it held the shape of three ovals that met in the centre, overlapping slightly. A perfect circle ran through the three ovals, cast against the metal base. The triquetra. "So that he will always know I am with him, even when I am far away."_

_"Of course," Sabariina nodded primly. "Are you sure this is the wisest time to leave the Capital?"_

_"Your concern is touching," the High Lady's smile bore only sadness. "But this is something I must do." She prompted Sabariina to take the amulet from her, but when the girl's hand reached out, Evadne clasped it tightly. Startled, Sabariina searched the other's glistening eyes. Fear bred only more of its own. "Protect him, sweet Sabariina. Please. Protect my son."_

_Lifting her chin nobly, Sabariina took Evadne's hands in her own, the amulet clasped between them. "I will. To my last heartbeat." _

Sabre had grown so tired yet could not hope to sleep. So often was the way. She needed information, knowledge, _clarity_, to soothe the doubts festering in her head, and distract her.

It was Felix she chose to find. He would tell her what he knew without skirting around the edges with guile, like Pan. Not that she had the will to face the Boy-King anyway. Felix's tall height and pale hair, even if it was mostly tucked under his hood, always made him relatively easy to spot in the bounds of the camp. To her relief, he complied without resistance when asked for the information she was desperate to have. She listened patiently to each and every word, silent in the mouth.

It became apparent soon enough that the game was advancing quickly, and unpredictably.

He revealed the Dark One himself had accompanied the rest of Henry's family on their rescue, but splintered from the pack early on and, from what it sounded like in Felix's narrative, he was fully prepared to sacrifice his very life to save the boy, his own grandson.

It was known that asides from Pan, the Dark One was the most powerful being on Neverland, but Felix was all too happy to assure the girl that Pan was keeping him under _observation._

He then informed her that there was also word of Baelfire, who had, somehow, found his way back to Neverland by summoning Pan's shadow from another realm, though he had yet to find the rest of Henry's rescue party. It came as no surprise that Pan had only trusted Felix with the task of finding the renegade Lost Boy, when Pan gave the order.

Envy prickled at Sabre in the chest. No one, save Killian, had ever come for her – not that it had ever been possible to succeed and by the time he had, she had long belonged to Neverland – but it seemed a small army was forming in order to return Henry from Pan's hold.

Lonely at the beginning, and lonelier then… Who else would have come for her?

No number of ghosts could have saved her.

Baelfire may have been exceptional, once, but there was not a chance that he and all the rest could all escape from Pan. _Never break in somewhere unless you know the way out,_ she recited. And there was no way out.

_But what if there could be?_

"Does that satisfy you?" Felix asked boredly, cutting into her thoughts.

Sabre glared mildly at him, though she didn't really mean it. "For now."

"Good. Now, go to bed. You look like shit," the tall boy looked her up and down.

"Not a bad idea," Sabre sighed, clearing the hair from her eyes. "And I'll punch you tomorrow." She grinned as he smirked at her. The bed in the hut sounded heavenly by that point. Starting to trudge on her way, Sabre reminded herself of what she needed to do, purely for her own clarity of mind – befriend Henry, gain his trust, keep to the lie, and help in keeping Henry's family at bay; all by any means necessary. Then, and only then, would Pan fulfil his end of the bargain to her.

Hoarse coughing grated against Sabre's ears as she passed her own hut. _Vasha._

Without a thought, she pivoted and darted inside, trying to let as little of the outside air in as possible, as though it were poison. Propped up on the pillows fashioned from carved up animal pelts, Vasha coughed and wheezed, barely able to stop to drink from the cup Nibs was holding up to him. Asking how he was seemed a pitifully futile endeavour.

Nibs looked up at her over his shoulder and shook his head. "He's not getting better."

"My blood didn't work?" Sabre felt her face crease. Again Nibs shook his head. "It's worked before."

"I guess you see how it used to be before you got here," Nibs said.

Sabre knew not to ask again if they could retrieve water from the spring at Dead Man's Peak. When first told their numbers weren't great enough to venture north she'd snapped angrily and gone straight for a sore spot. But as the anger dissipated, she knew it was true, and that was most of what made her angry.

Food was scarcer. They couldn't rely on the pirates for supplies any longer, the Piccaninny tribe was barely surviving as it was without giving a quota away. Belief had all but fizzled out. They needed greater numbers in their hunting, gathering and scouting parties. The beasts and Neverbirds had lost the fear they once held and could only be outmatched in aggression, and regular patrols were needed at all times to keep the camp safe to prevent an attack. Because, once they began, they would not cease. And the simple fact was, of all the boys, in the camp, only about half would be strong enough to survive a trek to Dead Man's Peak and they were the ones needed most to protect it.

And it would only get worse now that Pan's ultimate game had begun. Neverland cared little for visitors and trespassers. The sickness was turning it on its very own.

"Keep trying everything you can," Sabre said to Nibs, while putting a hand to Vasha's forehead. "I've never seen anyone burn up this much."

"The sooner Pan gets the boy's heart, the better. Or else, I'm not sure who else we'll lose," the fair haired boy replied, and Sabre couldn't help but agree.

As reluctant as she was to leave Vasha's side, Sabre feared that the only way to reverse the sickness was to do whatever Pan needed of her. And, to do that, she had to be sharp and focused to play her role, and that meant rested.

She was almost at the Boy-King's hut, the way secluded, when she found herself stopped.

"You did well," Pan's voice, though low, pierced her ears and crawled all the way up her spine. The chatter of the Lost Boys was faint behind them. "Couldn't have done it better myself – actually, that's probably not true."

Halted, Sabre looked to the left to find the Boy-King leaning comfortably against a thick tree trunk, a smirk playing on his lips. "A lot of lies are better when there's some truth to them," she mumbled flatly. She wasn't used to dealing with him so frequently, not anymore.

"Oh, what's the matter?" Pan cooed mercilessly. "Is the guilt eating away at that _fair_ little soul of yours?"

Sabre gave no answer and refused to look him in the face. On the inside she flinched as Pan prowled towards her like she was dinner, the hairs on her neck standing on end. There were few things that could prepare her for an audience with her king, and a clear mind was certainly one of them. All she wished for was to sleep.

Outwardly, Sabre straightened, head remaining mildly bowed.

"You're not going to let your poor little feelings get in the way, now, are you? I'm not sure you'll want to know what will happen if you disappoint me," he growled close to her ear, relishing in the shiver. "_Again_."

"I won't. I'll do what you want me to," she spoke quietly, eyes far away.

"Yes," Pan breathed out, "like the good little dog you are."

Sabre bit back what she wanted to say, knowing he knew full well of her distaste at being called _dog _– though it was better than a couple of alternatives that came to mind – and opted for something more diplomatic; "Felix said that Baelfire and the Dark One have come here."

Pan moved around to face the girl, standing close, and quickly noted how she was roughly the same height as the Truest Believer. "Did he now?"

"What happened between you and the Dark One?" Sabre asked, before gulping at the boldness of her question.

Letting out a small huff, Pan folded his arms, but he took it well. "If you _must_ know, before I had any Lost Boys, two people found their way to Neverland; a man and his son. I, having no one to play with, was rather bored at the time so I made up a little game to amuse myself," his eyes flickered with mischief, laced with malicious glee. "I made each of them an offer, unknown to the other. I told the father that if he completed his test I would restore his youth and send the boy away. See, he wasn't exactly father material, and the child was somewhat a ball and chain to him. And I told the boy that if he completed his test then he and his father could stay, start over. Live a new life," he laughed with scorn. "That very boy grew up to be the Dark One."

"So you were a monster even back then," Sabre retorted before she could catch herself, sensing that was all she was permitted to know. "Good that you're consistent, if nothing else."

Pan grinned, looking away uncaringly. "I'm in too good a mood to punish you for that; perhaps another time. We crossed paths a few times but all long ago. But you know some people," he turned back, seizing hold of her gaze in a snap. "They just can't let go."

_Yes, indeed_, she bit back silently, averting her eyes as soon as she could get away with it.

"You know he abandoned his son," Pan said, as though she may have already known the story it was clear he was about to divulge. He didn't wait for an answer, and spoke as if she had asked; "Traded him for the power of a dagger."

Sabre frowned, curious against expectation. "A dagger?" she echoed.

The Boy-King resumed his prowling, leaving her to pivot on the spot like cornered prey to keep her watchful eyes trained on him. He caught sight of her picking at the faded blue ribbon, and grinned – knowingly – to himself.

He came to a halt. "The dagger of the Dark One. Whoever controls the dagger controls the Dark One themselves. To become the Dark One, you must slay your _predecessor_ with that dagger. And given the choice of his power and his son, well," the edge of Pan's lips quirked, gaze sweeping, "I'm sure you can guess which way he chose. Ironic."

The girl's brow furrowed only further to the point she could feel the physical crease. It had come as no true surprise to her when a distrust of the arcane had swiftly reared its head. Magick had been true and real in the lands of her dwelling before Neverland, yet it was quiet, running through the roots of the planes. Everywhere but untouched. Users of magick were unheard of, except in stories and myths and legends, where they were held – far more often than not – on par with the divine. In much lore, gods could not be gods without their mastery of magick.

Yet somehow, within the bounds of the Enchanted Forest – Sabre still practically loathed the name – magick users dwelled, in a comparative abundance. In all her years before setting foot on Neverland, Sabre had never known of any connection between the lands of her childhood and the lands where magick could be not only enticed but enthralled. Wars, alliances, trade, none had been heard of or passed between the two worlds, all except that barren misted mountain pass.

Left at the mercy of her inquisitiveness, Sabre couldn't keep herself from pressing on. No doubt that had been Pan's intention.

"Ironic how, exactly?" she kept her tone soft without a thought.

A blink and Pan was before her, hand raised and curling a coppery lock behind a little ear, the flinch gone unacknowledged. "Ironic given that he gave up everything so that Bae wouldn't grow up without a father," he told her, hand lowering to his side. "Tell me, in Aieria, what would have happened to a soldier who crippled themselves on the eve of battle in order to return home, on the word of a seer?"

"We didn't have seers in Aieria," Sabre retorted with what came first. _Didn't – don't._ If nothing else, it allowed a moment for Pan's revelation to sink in.

It didn't surprise her when Pan arched his eyebrow, absent of a smile though his eyes lacked in their coldness.

"Depends," Sabre offered in alternative.

"On what?" he questioned shortly.

"On whether this is rhetorical or not."

Pan gave a small sigh, its resonance shallow. "Let's say not."

Looking away to nothing, Sabre turned back the clock behind her eyes. Since she had remembered, she could no longer forget, not for long at least.

It was no longer difficult to cross the chasm and, if Pan had known all those years, he had never said.

Sabre altered her weight from one leg to the other, hands curled over the softly worn down belt at her hips. "Someone who did that would have been given a hearing, where they would have a chance to explain their reasons to a jury. The judgement would depend on that. But everyone would know they deserted even if they escaped without penalty, meaning everyone would judge them in their own way."

"I wonder what it must have been like for Baelfire," Pan said before Sabre had closed her mouth, musing. "Growing up as the son of the village coward. Growing up without a mother because she couldn't stand the sight of her husband for the shame he'd brought upon their family. Only to be abandoned by the man who had fought so hard to come back to him."

Sabre didn't answer, and imagined.

"But, really, you've done rather well so far," the Boy-King continued with unsettling authenticity when he'd grown bored of the silence, before taking a step forward that closed the distance between them, and Sabre's breath caught in her throat as his hands settled on her hips. "Can't say I've been disappointed."

Bowing his head, Pan drew back his top lip by a fraction, the heat of his breath caressing her mouth like simmering fire. She was unable to catch a glimpse of those sharp teeth but_ felt_ them a moment later, digging into her plump lower lip. The bite was unhurried, teasing, while the hands on her hips circled to meet on her back, drawing her in tightly. Pan nudged Sabre's head to the side, baring that pale neck. His lips trailed over her jaw and delved into her vulnerable throat that lay waiting, unnervingly gentle still. Sabre had brought her hands to Pan's shoulders, and, as she shuddered pleasingly, her small grip curled, fisting the fabric of his tunic. Continuing his sensual ministrations, Pan could sense the girl softening, contently coming undone in his arms.

He could have lied to her, told her that he'd missed her scent, her warmth, and the intimacy they had shared before, and she may well have believed him. All of it was welcome, evoked a whispering fondness, even. He knew that she understood that she was his, but like all hounds, she needed a firm – though sometimes careful – hand from her master.

Moments like those made her afraid. With Pan so close, the pillars of her inner resolve fractured. She had never been so foolish as to allow her fear of him to become erased, but she found that she frightened herself just as much. It was there, in Pan's arms, that she inescapably remembered how deeply she longed for him, his attentions, and wanted to mean something to him…that it all reached so much deeper than fulfilling her end of the bargain to be granted the boon.

Everything was so simple when Sabre could believe it that way, distance it as a cold business deal. It helped keep her rampant heart dormant.

Pan relished in the status of demon and god, but Sabre's devotion to him was anything other than blind, even if she rarely understood it. She knew what he provided for her, what she required from him, and what lay behind the surface veil. Over the years, the steps he'd taken with her had woven into vague patterns; not so much that she could ever call it predictable…just not wholly _un_predictable_._

The way each and every of the Lost Boys feared and worshiped him was far within the bounds of _disconcerting_, because it only showed how much power the Boy-King wielded to elicit it so effortlessly, unendingly. She preferred to believe that she obeyed and submitted because she chose to, for whatever reason, always knowing there were other options that she _could_ take, however foolish or pointless; sometimes she wondered if some of the boys could even comprehend noncompliance to their leader.

Sabre moaned out softly as Pan's tongue and teeth caressed the tendon in her neck, firm, not yet rough. She no longer had the will to fight against reasoning, and nuzzled him back with a mounting passion until her cheeks and breast grew red and hot. Her lungs were starved in trying to remain quiet. Pan's breath held a husky edge as he drew away all too soon, his eyes consuming her.

Sabre looked down, waking drearily from the amorous daze. "Is this the only way?"

"Look at me," he murmured, a darkness overtaking him when she hesitated. "Look at me, little one. It's the only way for either of us to get what we need, whether you like it or not."

* * *

Sabre glanced down at her attire again while dragging the hair comb through her knotted locks. Any other day she wouldn't have given a thought of fuss over what she clad herself in, but this time was different.

Out of all the clothes she'd found, taken or been given, she carefully picked out the darkest part of breeches and boots, the lightest top and one of her many jerkins, both leaving her arms bare. She'd tried talking herself out of what she was going to do, yet knew she would end up carrying it out in spite of herself. As long as it didn't compromise the game, nobody really cared what she did. And it was because she'd never compromised any game before that she would do this.

The lord of Neverland couldn't see the way he could before.

Once each knot was tamed, she slipped her feet into her best kept pair of boots and descended into the woods. She didn't want to wear the face of the Lost Girl when she found who she was looking for.

Knowing exactly where she was headed, Sabre moved silently and swiftly, unseen, and whatever residual power lingered on served to protect her safety.

From a distance great enough to quell all fear of discovery, she spotted the fire of the heroes' accommodated camp. She circled it carefully, patiently, finding the one she sought…

The pirate was sat alone and unwatched by his comrades. Sabre picked her position, stood and waited with the haunting stillness of shadow.

It was first from the corner of his eye that Killian saw the figure. He turned, sitting up slowly. Like a phantom, gaunt and capturing, she stood between the trees with only the wind fluttering her hair and the ruffles of her clothes. She put a little finger to her lips, eyes unreadable from such a distance, then pivoted gracefully, walking away in a gentle gait. Killian muttered an excuse of collecting firewood and, both intrigued and filled with the same dread felt long ago, followed.

So familiar and such a stranger, the pirate couldn't turn away from her. He would lose sight of her then catch a glimpse of coppery gold or white, all the while knowing there was every chance that she could be leading him into a trap. And yet there was still a flicker of something undefinable in him that kept him moving on. Far from his camp, Killian slowed to a halt, pausing to look around for any sign of her, finding none.

"Sabre?" he spoke lowly. "Don't play games. Are you here? Sabre, come out."

"Here," the voice that met his ears with soft, both assuring and unnerving him at the same time. "I needed to see you," she said as he turned to find her standing behind him.

"Why? Our past two encounters haven't exactly been of the friendliest of circumstances," Killian quipped stiffly, disliking the plain view of his injury.

Sabre clasped her hands together at the hips, a diplomatic stance. "But I think you can guess why that was," her voice held an assured firmness. "How's your neck?"

The pirate gave a mirthless chuckle. "Fine. I think I prefer you fair haired," he paused. "I suppose I ought to thank you."

"That depends on one thing," Sabre cut in quickly.

Killian looked her up and down. "And what's that? I'm liking the get-up too, by the way, love. Like the tattoo, especially. What is that, a dog?"

The comment went unheard and the calmness of her demeanour splintered all too quickly into something close to broken. "On the day that Rufio died," she choked, "did you mean to kill me when you cut my throat? Because if you did then you can save any thanks."

The pirate didn't respond right away, the impish charm wiped clean away. Reading his face, Sabre was unsure if he knew his own mind.

"No, I didn't think of killing you and I certainly didn't want to, _despite_ what you'd just done to me." The scar still lingered on his abdomen. "But I'm not sure either of us were thinking much at all in those moments. I'm still alive, thanks to you, and I know you owe me nothing, but tell me why you're here?" Hook asked of her.

"I told you, I needed to see you," Sabre repeated. "You were never my enemy, no matter what happened that day. None of you are, and I never blamed you for leaving me here. Even if sometimes I hated you for it. I know you had no choice back then, so I'd hoped you of all people would understand the position I'm in now."

"You're in league with Pan," the pirate accused, absent of sentiment.

"As were you," Sabre's tone sharpened effortlessly, eyes hardening over the surface. "I wouldn't have survived six moons in this place if I'd continued to defy Pan. And I know that you didn't escape from him; he let you go," she sighed wearily, collecting herself. "It was years and years ago, here, and one of the Lost Boys told me something I wasn't meant to find out. He told me that Pan was looking for the Truest Believer and that once he'd found him, he would kill me because he'd no longer have any use for me. And do you know what happened to that boy, who only told the truth to warn me?"

Killian sighed darkly. "What happened?"

"I was forced to execute him," she didn't think the colour in his face would drain quite so quickly; it spurred her to go on. "He was one of Pan's oldest Lost Boys, a child, and that's what happened to him for what Pan deemed as disloyalty. And he wasn't the first or the last," Sabre took a deep breath to collect herself. "Pan made alterations because of what I'd found out. I'm only doing what I have to do, just like you did. You should leave the island while you still can, all of you. Just give it up and Pan might let you get out alive."

"You know that won't happen," Killian answered, almost in disappointment. "They'll sooner die here before they consider giving up."

"That's what's far more likely to happen," Sabre snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "Even if by some miracle you do get the boy back, what then? Are you naïve enough to think Pan will just hold his hands up and let you leave?"

Rubbing his face resignedly, the pirate exhaled through the mouth. "We'll find a way, somehow."

Sabre rolled her darkening eyes in exasperation. "We both know you're not that much of a dumb cunt, _captain_. Convince yourself before you try and convince me. What good is a rescue plan if you have no way out? And chances are, there is no way out without Pan's permission. Maybe there are some things I've missed, maybe there's a loophole, I don't know. But a rescue is futile until escape is certain."

"Why do you care, Sabre? Why do our fates mean anything to you?" Killian questioned, absentmindedly scratching the wound on his neck. The hurt on her face struck him off guard, and he saw a hundred replies on her lips.

The girl looked down, brow growing heavier as the last light in her eyes dwindled. Raising them after a moment, the pirate could almost _feel _the weight of sorrow on her features. "For the same reason that I was abandoned here in the first place. I have been _well_ bloodied here, but I haven't been broken."

* * *

**Hope you liked it, please leave a review! What did you think of: how I'm working canon material into the story, Sabre's reveal to Henry and inner conflict, the flashback, the growing sickness in Neverland, Pan's story about Rumple (OUAT writers, you is dum-dums) and Sabre going to find Killian? **

**See you next time!**


	4. Chapter 4

_The torture of a bad conscience is the hell of a living soul ~ John Calvin_

* * *

_You know you should not be doing this. The risks are too great. _

_You'll end up losing your half of the deal. _

_It's the only way._

The tempest had eased a little now that she donned her usual clothes, the invisible mask freshly sewn over. However, no matter how earnestly she tried, Sabre couldn't hope to whisk herself back to a simpler time. The long road of denial she had first set foot upon the day of Rufio's death had finally come to its bleak close.

The secrecy of her visit to Killian appeared to have held fast; if Pan knew of it, he certainly hadn't made it known, and nothing had come of it. So far.

He cared not about the days when his hound had shadowed their mutual_ friend_ on his visits to their realm; there had been no consequences even when she was fool enough to nearly be discovered. But things were different now. Caution was something Sabre had _always_ remained faithful to, fully aware, for far too long, that even the smallest risk could end in a fate worse than death.

There was but one way known to escape Neverland, and it was not one accessible by Henry's family, making any attempt at rescue futile, not that they would ever realistically accept it. Sabre knew, nonetheless, they would keep trying until the very end. _Perhaps in that way we're not all that different._ Difference was, she had an escape secured. The condition of Pan's final victory, and thus, her end of the bargain, was Henry's heart – nothing so simple had ever been so intricate.

But there had been an invisible tick in her mind, an itch inside her skull that she couldn't scratch, keeping her awake at night, not that Pan was present to notice. The Lost Boy, whose face she had never known, Baelfire.

If the illustrious Baelfire found a way to escape the colosseum of hell, then who was to say he couldn't do so again, and this time escape with Henry and all his _heroes_? Each and either way, lives were in the balance.

Sleep relentlessly eluded her. The torches flickered low, and she could hear the crying from outside the hut, unhindered by distance or barrier. Just like the _old_, old days. She rolled over for about the dozenth time, facing away from the makeshift door that was just a thick cloth hung down over the entranceway. _If only_…

Blankness overwhelmed Sabre's mind when her body convulsed violently.

Electrified by panic, she scrambled over to her front to lean over the side of the rickety bed, body wracked with grating coughs. Hair tumbled down in front of her face, festering on the rapid build of sickly heat. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed so tightly she couldn't move them. Like a distressed animal, she shook her head frantically in hope of freeing up her sight, all the while retching up one cough after the next to little avail. A weight trapped itself in her body and steadfastly refused to unshackle. She shook most of her hair over to one side, leaving her eyes and airways unobstructed. Between the hoarse coughs, Sabre wanted to call out for help. But who would she have called for?

A knot in her body finally yielded, and the flesh inside her throat crackled like acid. A ghastly wetness rose at the back of her mouth and she coughed it forward before spitting it out to sever its stem. Gasping in scattered breaths, Sabre pulled back a little and used one trembling hand to move as much of her hair back as she could. She looked over, shuddering as she saw that, mixed with the spit and bile, lingered blood. It had yet to sink in properly when she started coughing and retching again, repeating the whole ugly process.

Burning and quivering by the end of it, Sabre peered down at the floor, swallowing frantically at what met her sight. The worn rug beneath her leavings was _rotting_, touched by the poison blood. She reared back, panting.

_It can't be….No, it can't be._

Sabre lurched from the bed, ran some water from the cracked clay jug onto the cloth besides it, spilling more than she caught, and then threw herself down, scrubbing frenetically to clean the mess away. The rot was not so compliant.

"No, no, _no_," she cursed under her breath, the tears in her eyes managing to clog up the sound. She scrubbed the cloth itself to within an inch of its life until no one would be able to tell that the stain was blood.

If drifting into sleep had been unlikely before it was downright impossible now. Sabre forced herself to wait in the bed, tossing and turning resumed, until the first light of dawn, her panicked whimpers drowned out with ease. When she dared to glance at the floor, the patch of rot had grown, remnants of blood locked within the fibres.

With jittery haste, she washed and found fresh clothes to dress in, giving a wide berth to the putrefied fabric, as though the rot might spread to her should she touch it. The desperate need to tell someone – _anyone_ – cracked down on her tired shoulders, but who was there to tell? The Lost Boys may have shown concern, but what could they have done about it? Surely Pan wouldn't care. His grand prize was in sight. If anything, telling him would remind the Boy-King of how her value had nearly exhausted itself, the very reason he was going to have her killed, when it was all over. She nearly ripped the thick cloth down in emerging from the hut, eyes darting fitfully towards every movement within the camp.

_I can't stay here,_ Sabre wittered to herself. _Safe, I need somewhere safe._ Only one place came to mind.

The quickest way to the springs, a place that had retained its quiet beauty over the long years, was straight through the camp, and already Sabre grew greedy at the idea of spending just a few minutes beneath the water, in warmth and silence. Her hood was quickly pulled up and drawn down over her face, even though tongues seldom wagged in her direction anymore. Most of the boys had woken up, stirred by the chills that were quick and keen to descend nowadays, though were not yet active, and not that they knew of Sabre's plight. She was only a few mere feet away from the dense cover of the jungle when a call summoned her.

"Sabre?" it was Henry, and her shoulders slumped under the thick charcoal cloak. For a second she contemplated pretending that she hadn't heard him, but the boy wasn't anything if not persistent. "Sabre?"

"I can't right now, Henry," Sabre answered, not stopping, aware that Henry was following after her. "Find one of the boys if you need something. I think I saw Slightly just back there."

"I know you're all hiding things from me. And I saw you – _alone_ – with Pan," the boy blurted out, able to catch up with her now she'd stopped dead in her tracks.

Sabre spun so quickly that Henry flinched, a vulnerable wildness about her. "And?" she barked, breathing unevenly, face dark beneath the hood.

"You're on his side." She was growing tired of the accusing tones. Henry's was no different.

_I'm on the side of life, boy._ "Well, it's hardly possible to be on anyone else's side, now, is it? You try living here alone for _years_ on end. And, frankly, it's none of your damn business what I do in private, or with whom," she snapped back.

"I just, can't understand why you'd do something like that if Pan's been keeping you here like a prisoner," Henry exclaimed in disbelief, taken aback. "I thought you were here like me."

"I was," Sabre drew in a breath, holding the image of gentle rolling waves in her mind. Her voice softened. "But I've been here longer than I can remember. This is my home now, those boys are like kin now and Pan," she stopped, eyes cast down as she held herself in silence, gathering the necessary emotion to lend her voice; "Pan's done a great deal for me. Given me things that no one else could. He's taken care of me all these years. He didn't have to. Loyalty, of some form, cannot be avoided when you're with someone for so long. You would never understand."

Truth eased the deception. In all those years she had never been able to piece Pan together like other people, but there was still a familiarity that had built slowly as each moon passed. In an odd way, because of the futility, Sabre had been able to lower her guard around the Boy-King. Much of it, anyway. He remained the only one who could still lift some of that weight from her shoulders, shed the armour and peer at the frightened child inside.

"If seeing two people holding each other unsettles you this much then you're in for quite a few surprises," Sabre scoffed, pulling back her hood if only to occupy her idle hands.

"I still know you're hiding something from me, and I don't belong here," Henry said. "I don't think I should be here at all."

Sabre would have sighed. Then she would have squeezed her eyes shut, hardening her resolve. Dangerously, her mind's eye conjured what might happen if she suddenly dropped every charade and divulged the entire truth. She cleared her throat, silencing all the little voices. "I think I should show you something."

Sabre unsheathed her dagger and lined up the tip with her finger. "What are you doing?" Henry gasped as she cut to draw blood.

The girl said nothing and held her finger over the nearest bit of greenery, applying pressure with her thumb to coax the blood from the unplanned wound. A few drops patted onto a leaf like rain, while she held her breath. She hadn't quite believed the horror until the leaf shrivelled, blackening as its life was poisoned, and dropped to the ground, little more than ash and dirt.

"Do you see now?" she began; "A year ago, a moon ago, my blood would give life. If I got hurt in a fight or just cut myself by accident and my blood spilled, life would flourish. A flower would appear from the dirt, the leaves would grow. Ever since the first blood I spilt here. But what did you just see?"

The startled shock sat plainly on the boy's face, as if something had been irrevocably confirmed to him by the grizzling sight. _I was life, and now I am death. _Sabre turned away, unable to face what her blood – what _she_ – had done, the physical manifestation of proof of what she'd become.

_Pan's going to perish, and all the magic will follow. _

_I was brought to give the island life…give him life. But now all I can bring is death. _

_Does that make me part of what's killing him? Or is he part of what's killing me? _

She raised her gaze to linger on Henry's face. _One life for all of ours._ "This is why Pan has to save magic, why _you_ have to. If magic dies then the balance is corrupted, forever, and life turns to death. How could any of us stand by and let this happen?" Surely, if Pan had been watching, he would have praised her for such a heartfelt performance, one that appeared to convince Henry of her conviction. And perhaps if she'd had the resolve, Sabre might have lent some concern at how easily her tongue molded into silver. "So, you're not going anywhere."

A mental gear engaged behind Henry's dark eyes, though, if anything, it was encouraging. If anyone were to survive on Neverland, they had to adapt, almost acquire a sixth sense that could hold onto the smallest of details that others might so easily miss. It meant that Neverland was weaving its invisible threads on him, however prematurely, and that was where he needed to stay. That sense, like an omniscient guiding hand, warned of what was safe, whom to listen to, and who held the power. _I was tormented and broken, yet he is coddled and nurtured. _Sabre had adapted almost too quickly, and there'd been no second reassuring voice to keep her unaware of Pan's true intentions for her. She didn't know whether to be thankful for the Boy-King dropping his charade after mere days of her arrival, or if she would have liked to be held in the arms of ignorance for a little longer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be callous like that. There's just," she paused for breath, "too much on my mind. It's becoming difficult to bear." The notion of vulnerability didn't evoke the usual wake of distress around Henry; instead it presented itself as an opportunity she would not let pass. _Oh, Pan would be so proud._

Without missing a beat, Henry stepped forward; he placed a sincere and gentle hand on her shoulder, and suddenly Sabre's grasp of composure shattered.

A warmth spread through her skin under the boy's touch, reaching down into her bones. Intricate thought slipped through her fingers, and she found herself slowly looking to where Henry's hand lay. The bones of her legs, made giddy, juddered under treacherously steady skin and muscle. Breathing out gradually and delicately, Sabre raised her eyes and found Henry's own were waiting for her. In that moment she felt as though she knew him, the same way she had known another, one even dearer, a long time ago.

The only person who had shown her unending kindness, who treated her as though she were dear, someone of true worth. Before, like just then, Sabre knew she didn't deserve it and, yet, she had it. And it changed her all that time ago, as it did in that very moment.

"What is it? Sabre, you can tell me, I promise," Henry whispered.

Sabre exhaled, abruptly all too hot around the throat. She still couldn't swallow smoothly. "I've, um, I've started getting sick. I didn't," she attempted a gulp, "understand how bad things actually were until I coughed up the blood and the…and things began to rot away."

"I-I didn't realise, I'm sorry," Henry spoke contritely. "What's going to happen to you?"

Sabre shrugged with honest uncertainty, daring not to slip too far down that road of thought. "I don't know. But I can make a reasoned guess that it's only going to get worse. And I…I'm scared, Henry. I don't know what's going to happen."

Reaching out, Henry took hold of Sabre's hand. It was a little smaller than his, more delicate, but it was freezing. So cold that he nearly flinched. "It's gonna be okay, I promise. I won't let anything happen to you."

Sabre choked out a laugh that hurt her throat, and bitterly cursed the wetness in the tiny corners of her eyes. "It should be me looking out for you," she sighed and simply looked at him, remembering, for how could she not do so.

The small smile was unavoidable as she swore she saw a little colour splash Henry's cheeks. "What?" his tone grew bashful.

"It's just," Sabre shrugged again, but this time the muscles were at ease, "you remind me of someone I knew, a long time ago."

Such warmth danced in the darkness of the boy's eyes, such purity, even if it was naïve, perhaps misguided. She saw all too clearly why he was the victim of Pan's greatest game. A weight collapsed on her shoulders.

_I don't know if I can be part of this, not again._

* * *

"I don't like it."

"David, I don't think we have a choice-"

"She's working with Pan, and this has nothing to do with getting Henry back. That's all we should be focusing on."

"For all we know, she came to the pirate because Pan told her to."

"No, I saw it in her eyes. She's as much the demon's prisoner as Henry is. And she's right, whether we like it or not; a rescue mission is pointless unless we have a way off this bloody island!"

"Oh, please! She wanted you to see her as a little damsel in distress to lure you in. Looks like she succeeded."

Emma buried her head in her hands, ears and thoughts scrambled with the incessant squabbling. They'd been at it for days. Trekking through forest and jungle until their heads ached with the heat and their feet were worn through. To top it all off, the map had led them to one half of the island when the marker for Pan's camp had only gone and vanished before materialising on the other half, setting them back to square one.

"Enough!" she barked, heaving herself to her feet with a forced vigour that left her legs straining. She didn't let it show. "This is going to get us nowhere."

Regina held her hands at the hips, exasperated and unimpressed. "We'd get somewhere faster if we weren't trying to make friends with every little mongrel we find out here," she shot a scowl at Mary Margret, with a sneer curling her top lip, the colour of fresh blood.

"Well excuse me for being open to the possibility that there's more to this girl than meets the eye," the other woman replied tautly, folding her own arms in a second, passive response.

"Guys, c'mon," Emma sighed exhaustedly. "We can't just run in and grab Henry. If it were that easy we'd have him back by now. We have to rig Pan's game if we want to win it, and, right now, Sabre is our best hope of doing that. Killian, what exactly did she say to you?"

Regina threw her hands up in the air, but thankfully remained silent beyond the huff of irritation. Emma rubbed her temples; at least David and Mary Margret seemed willing to listen. How they had united and led a kingdom was utterly beyond her.

"Well, to start off with," Killian began tersely, "I do believe that she came to me of her own volition, which means she's having to be very careful, and suggests that her loyalty to Pan may not be quite as absolute as we may have feared," he saw Regina roll her eyes as well as the doubt present among the others, and couldn't pretend he was entirely sure himself, despite his instincts. "I know I could be wrong, but I'm going with my gut on this one. I think it's possible that she's been playing a very, very long game."

"It's also just as possible that Pan has rubbed off on her and she's learned how to bat her eyelashes just right and put on a sugary sweet voice to get what she wants," Regina couldn't stop herself, hating the idea that this girl was close to her son, poisoning him, taking him away from her.

"Regina, please. Let him finish," Emma asserted, treading over to the nearest fallen log to give her legs the break they were very much in need of.

"Now, this is just what she said to me," Killian said, casting a warning stare to the Evil Queen before continuing; "She doesn't see us as enemies and has worked on Pan's side because it's been the only way for her to survive all these years. And like I said, a rescue mission will be of no use until we have a way out, as Sabre reminded me."

"So you agree we should find her and see what we're dealing with?" Emma surmised.

"Aye, I do," the pirate assented. "It could be our greatest hope, or our death warrants. Only one way to find out."

"And then, if she is on Pan's side, we'll have a hostage," David interjected swiftly, in such a way that it was clear he'd been biting his tongue. "She's obviously important if she's been kept around for so long."

In the break of quiet that followed, Emma allowed the wonderings to come. The girl, whoever she was, wherever she had come from, had survived. As to _what_ she had survived, Emma couldn't begin to fathom. But she could fight, she'd been trained well enough. She'd taken a fall on Pan's behalf, surely knowing that Pan could have protected himself easily enough – much to Emma's infuriation – and that it could have cost her everything.

The stories she'd grown up with never told of a girl within the ranks of Peter Pan. And she was certainly no _Wendy._ There were a fair few fairytales that Emma wished could have stayed the way she knew them growing up.

"Do you think she might know a way off the island?" Mary Margret asked, unmistakably hopeful.

"If she did then why wouldn't she have used it herself? If she were such an _innocent _prisoner?" Regina countered, while her fists clenched as she tried to contain herself. "Baelfire, or Neal, found a way off Neverland and he _used_ it." She ignored the reproachful looks given by the Charmings, knowing she'd been insensitive, but couldn't help looking to the Saviour. Knowing that for the sake of her son – _their _son – she would have to make nice. "Sorry, that was crass."

But Emma didn't show a hint of vulnerability. "You're right," she said instead. "We can't assume anything, though, not until we see for ourselves. That's how mistakes are made and we can't afford that. Regina, do you think you can track her down for us?"

Still not accustomed with the way the Evil Queen's face lit up, Emma kept the shudder that scuttled down her spine to herself. A tiny part of her hoped that this _Sabre_ would be ready for what was coming.

"With pleasure," Regina approved, the whiteness of her teeth stark against the blood red hue of her lips.

* * *

On the far side of Neverland, under the same silver moon, Sabre was groaning as she heaved herself upright, having fought through another fit. The breath in her chest was so weak, so crippled, that it made her skin crawl under the sheen of sickly hot perspiration. There wasn't even strength to spare for wiping the dirt off her trousers, or her hands.

Attempts of soothing herself came to no avail. She'd never been very good at that, and there was no one else who could do so for her.

The trembles refused to let go of her limbs as she trudged back to the camp they had all newly moved to, having abandoned the decision to visit the springs, the coldness lingering above the heat so thick on her hide that she could have reached to touch it. Her hood was pulled over and down to shield as many features as possible. She didn't want them to see her that way. And for that reason, Sabre opted for Pan's tent rather than her own now that Vasha had been taken to Slightly's. She passed through the shadows with fleeting glances to the boys settling by the fire in their dwindled packs. No one would think of disturbing her in Pan's shelter.

Such a long time had slipped by since they had last shared a bed, even longer since they'd shared flesh.

The tent was quiet, warm and dry, and that was more than good enough for her. Sluggishly, Sabre stripped the clothes from her body, collapsing half naked into the rare comfort of a proper bed with all the strength of a newborn pup. She curled into the softness around her, futilely envisioning an embrace to reside in.

But still the noises in her head came knocking.

Jaw ground in exhausted agitation, Sabre allowed her weight to pull her over, gaze lingering upwards.

_If Baelfire and the Dark One are here in Neverland…If there was any way for me to find them, before Pan does. There is nothing I can do alone…_

Lethal danger beset the path her mind now turned towards. She could not stop herself.

_But with the Dark One's powers and Baelfire's secret…maybe there is a way. _

The tent flap rippled and a small chill settled on the skin that had been left bare. Sabre didn't need to look over. Nevertheless the scowl lurked right beneath. She chose to say nothing, questions that sounded tired even in her mind staying behind her tongue. Words and deeds she previously wouldn't have thought much of now festered dark roots in the gaps of her consciousness, cracks to shatter the sheen of ice that had worn away to nearly nothing.

"Comfortable?" Pan asked with a curl in his lips and a curve to match in his left eyebrow. It had always been the one he arched most frequently.

It took some forcing to land her gaze on his tall figure. Keeping the covers tight at her chest, she inched upright, grateful for the hair that swept down over her face. He usually thought nothing of her resting in his bed. "Did I do something wrong?" she spoke in a small voice, fearing what he knew. _Might_ have known.

Her mouth had barely closed when Pan lunged forward, too fast for her to see, to crouch above the smaller body, entrapping it with a hand and knee on either side. His head tilted to inspect her curiously, eyes vivid and terrible.

"Now, why would you ask that?" Pinching the covers between thumb and forefinger, Pan pulled them away, hardening his gaze to a glare at the tug of resistance that crumbled a moment later. He eyed the scar on the girl's chest; its shape remained untouched over the years, pristine.

The thread between them, although weakened severely, was not yet unbound and it thrummed faintly from one end to the other.

"There's not something you want to tell me, is there?" Pan dipped his head low, lips brushing the shell of Sabre's ear. His mouth spread into a lax grin when he heard her little gasp.

Over forty years and still she couldn't rein in her shudders.

Repositioning his weight into one arm, he lifted the opposite hand to glide it down her bare side, feeling each individual rib under the fragile skin. Still soft, still silken. He knew where her mind was and where it would go. He knew what she would do next.

"Did you need me for something?" her voice was just as he imagined it.

"No, pup, no. You can rest tonight. You look like you need it. I simply came to warn you," Pan told her, tracing lazy circles over the protrusion of a slender hip.

A tiny crease formed on Sabre's brow. "Of what?"

Instead of answering, the Boy-King removed himself from above her. She remained exposed as he settled, fully clothed and atop the bedding, besides her, the stretch of his limbs far exceeding her own.

The dichotomy was no less odd than it had been at its birth. People cracked other people. They worked them out piece by piece, understood them, found parallels, harmonies. Some were harder to decipher than others, there were some who could never be properly picked apart. With Pan, Sabre could barely scratch the surface.

Conduct was always a mystery, just out of reach. Not knowing how to be with him, around him, had become a norm, and there lay the contradiction. They were familiar in such an unfamiliar way.

Sabre knew that she did not know him; she had deciphered that she would perhaps never decipher the demon in a god's hide.

"The Saviour is going to come searching for you soon," Pan at last said in answer to her question. He beckoned with his finger, had her roll over to face him and made sure she saw his smirk as she pulled the covers back up, before tucking the loose tresses behind her little ear.

He continued to whisper, telling his hound what he wanted her to do, and she nodded mutely. He was glad – it would have been a shame if he'd grown bored of the prettiness in her obedience. Thus, in return, he stayed with her through the night.

The thread grew lax, singing anew as the two bodies wound together, sheltered and naked. A rare form of peace, if only mild and temporary, overtook the girl when her body was enveloped. Breaths became long and slow, muscles grew soft and tender. It was not so much the physical gesture that Pan valued – rarely had been – but all that it equivocated.

In those quiet moments, she trusted him enough to surrender and find comfort; that which only he could provide for her.

Sabre was nearly asleep when she stirred at Pan's careful touch on her cheek, intended to rouse, and foggy eyes flickered open in the clutches of frayed consciousness.

"Why is it you covet all these scars?" the youthful god's voice was carried by its familiar husky timbre in the dark.

The scars lining her cheeks were easiest to forget, entirely unseeable unless in reflection, the means of which were seldom in Neverland. The habit of running frequent fingertips over the paled gash on her neck, fine and younger than all other scars she carried, had kept it from the same consequence. Meanwhile the fire-born scar, like an infinite seal on wax, sometimes lured her attention as many as several times in one day; other times she would pay it no heed for weeks, or months.

The brief moment that Sabre's eyes lifted, meeting his, informed of her attention and intention to answer. They remained low when she pieced her words together. "I'm nothing without them," she whispered, the subtle movements of her jaw felt against Pan's chest. "I need them."

"No," Pan murmured, on the edge of a growl. The muscles in the arms holding her flexed, strength whispering beneath. "You need me."

_Why can't it be both?_ Sabre thought of saying, but did not. _For it is both._ Without a thought, she tucked her head a little lower, cheek warm against where it rested.

_You know I will do what I must. Is that not enough? _she implored in silence, wishing she were foolishly brave enough to say so aloud, but knowing that, in all her fear, she never would.

"Do you ever think you'll lose this sentimentality of yours?" Pan asked ponderingly, and Sabre was unsure whether he was after an answer.

_Perhaps I will, the day you lose your cruelty._ Again her lips remained untouched. The longer she kept her silence the less likely it seemed that an answer was expected, severing their exchange, and Sabre steadily relaxed, wondering of the thoughts leading Pan to his initial questioning. Intrigued of the Triquetra captured him from the moment he'd first seen it, as far as to make it the most coveted of all her many secrets until the night she confessed the story, her memory pieced together. There were greater secrets that she kept, darker secrets that lingered in an unbreakable silence, the ones which had spread furthest into the dark ponds of her eyes. All he needed had been achieved; those secrets could die with her for all Pan cared.

Besides, their game was ending soon.

* * *

A strange sense – not quite instinct, but akin to it – led Sabre, at the closing of the following day, through the land, which still seemed to carry a shred of loyalty to her, and to _her_ alone. It wouldn't have mattered if such luck had evaded her, though; she would have searched for as long as it took.

Her face remained masked; that was until she set foot at one of the many secluded coves scattered about Neverland's threshold and spied two figures. She thanked whatever it was that had brought her to where she had sought.

Still a distance away, the two were unaware of her presence and Sabre took the moment to bare her face. She stepped beyond the jungle's shelter, conscious of putting weight into her steps. It didn't take much to discern which of the two the Dark One was.

For all intents and purposes, she had come only armed with a dagger that was secured, deliberately, behind her hip but upon seeing the sorcerer, Sabre wished she had brought her sword, and worn tougher clothing. The flinch remained below the surface of skin when her footfalls announced plain her presence. Looks of initial bewilderment, however fleeting, were becoming commonplace.

She kept her distance.

"Who are you?" demanded the man who could only have been Baelfire. He had attire that was odd in the same way as the heroes', nothing lost or boyish left in the look of him. He appeared almost too young to be the son of the man besides him, upon whom she was trying not to look.

Hooking her thumbs over her belt to steady her hands, Sabre glanced momentarily to the sandy ground. "You are Baelfire, yes?"

"Who's asking?" the Dark One demanded coarsely, sweeping around the other man as his teeth bared themselves from under thinned lips.

Sabre moved a foot back, caught herself, and straightened. "I am."

As her watch flickered between the two, she caught a furrow forming on Baelfire's brow; passing a reassuring touch to his father's arm, the younger stepped past him, head ducking in the way of perplexion.

"Bae, don't," the Dark One tersely warned. "For all we know, she's an illusion."

"I wish," Sabre scoffed in answer before able to stop herself.

Nonetheless, Baelfire took another wary step forwards. "I swear I've seen you before," he said, carrying the same vocal intonations as Felix and Henry.

Offering a curt look, Sabre shook her head. "I don't think so. You were long gone by the time I arrived here."

"No, but I have," Baelfire replied, barely as she'd finished. "I know your face, I – oh…"

The Dark One, following close to his son, split his heavy gaze between them, clear in the way he searched for whatever it was that Baelfire beheld in her face. As begrudging as it was for him to admit, she didn't look like Pan.

The girl before him carried none of the demon's haughtiness, mirth or malice, none of his balefulness, above or below. He turned his head in time to see everything fall into place behind his son's eyes.

"He found you," Baelfire spoke with resigned softness.

There was something grim in Sabre's affirmation; "He did."

She curled a little hair behind her ear after a breath of wind displaced it, gaze falling habitually to the ground, and then to the sea. Its colour was a charming aquamarine that made her muscles ache with want to be submerged in its arms.

"Bae, who is she?"

The younger pivoted as if to speak privately. "When I was here, Pan was looking for the Truest Believer but he was also looking for what he called a fairest soul. He always said they would have to come first. He had a scroll for each of them with a picture of their face on it. And that… Papa, that's her. What's your name?" Baelfire asked her.

She offered a shrug and half smile. "Everyone calls me Sabre. I'm sorry, but I didn't know to whom else to turn. I need help."

The reaction was one she was readied for, and the one she most expected.

"And how do we know you weren't sent by Pan? That this isn't a trap?" the Dark One accused, teeth showing in another hiss, and when he grinned Sabre knew he could smell the fear on her.

A hand was at her dagger before she could think otherwise.

Sabre caught herself and sighed thickly, lowering her hand. "Because I'm not like him. Because I'm here for the same reason as your son and grandson, except I was never saved. I did not choose to stay here and I betray him just by being here now."

"What's in it for you? Why take the risk?" Baelfire asked, briefly eyeing the knife he now knew she carried at her hip.

It took courage to put one foot forward in front of the other and keep her limbs from shaking. "Because it's the right thing to do. Because I am _not_ him. I have seen your son, been with him, and he is well." _Pan is infinitely gentler with him than he was to me._ _Perhaps if I'd been younger…_

"You've been with Henry?" Baelfire parroted, though Sabre suspected it was merely expulsion of surprise and relief.

"Yes, and he is safe, I promise," she reaffirmed nonetheless. "He's quite the boy, definitely special. But Pan will get what he wants; he always does. Everyone breaks, sooner or later. One way or another."

"But why do _you_ need help?" he asked, knowing the look in her eyes and it made him grow cold.

The abruptness of the girl's approach startled him a little, her resolution absolute. "Pan's going to get what he wants, there's no doubt of that and, as much as I wish it weren't so, I need him alive. But I do not wish Henry to be the cost of his victory. Now, I admit I don't know much but if what I've been told is even half true," she landed her sharp attention on the Dark One, "then you are the one who could ensure such a thing, if anyone. I've done plenty that I'll never stop regretting but I," Sabre stopped to swallow against the lump rising in her throat, "I can't stand by and do nothing. Not this time."

There was a pause.

"Why do you need Pan?" the Dark One's voice was infinitely harsher than his son's. Not that Sabre minded; she doubted she would have been less sceptical in his place.

"We made an agreement many years ago," she said. "I left a great deal of unfinished business behind before my days here; in return for helping him take possession of Henry's heart, he would ensure I am able to return and finish that business. But enough people have already died for the sake of this deal. I don't want for Henry to die as well. But Pan must, and will succeed, and there are a great many people depending upon my return. I haven't the first clue as to what magick is capable of but if there is some way to allow them both to survive this then I beg you to take it."

"But what do you think happens if we allow Pan to get Henry's heart?" Baelfire countered, not missing a beat.

_Allow._ The word half made her irate and half amused. She'd had higher hopes. Nevertheless, the assurance was not for her to give. She could no more stop Pan than she could stop the sun from rising in the east.

"Pan will win, that is unavoidable. My only hope is that there is a way to avoid the cost of Henry's life in the process," Sabre insisted, taking another step forwards. "My half of the bargain was to ensure that Pan gets what he needs; he neglected to specify_ how_ in which I did that. This would be Henry's only chance."

The lack of detail in their bargain had unsettled her from the beginning. She was a decent enough diplomat, reasonable enough as a strategist – able to think in the minds of those Pan had no interest in – but she was no politician. Thus, she had considered that Pan believed such technicalities would not occur in her deliberation, though had been just quick to recognise the obvious and gaping flaw.

More likely, he did not care.

"Loopholes or not," The Dark One said, "you can only defeat Pan if you're willing to die."

The sigh kept itself at bay. "I'm not trying to defeat him," Sabre retorted curtly. _Or did you listen to nothing I said?_ "I'm trying to prevent Henry's life being the cost of his victory; if his heart and his life are one and the same. I admit, I am out of my depth."

"Clearly," came the sorcerer's reply, and Sabre took it.

Baelfire's look was disapproving nonetheless. "But you believe that this is the last hope to save my son? You believe there's no chance of beating Pan?"

"I don't believe, I know," the girl said, dark gazing moving swiftly. Now, she did sigh; her shoulders slumped and eyes flickered, tempering. "I'm not sure you understand – you're only here because he wants you here. He could have had the Shadow take Henry, or done it himself; he could have made it impossible for anyone to follow. This was all done so everyone could be on Neverland, here and now. He's been waiting years to play this game. So, I suppose, yes."

A pause was expected but Baelfire did not hesitate; "Okay but what if there is something? Say we find what you're looking for – what then? What happens to us when Pan gets what he wants?"

"He's made nothing clear to me," Sabre replied mechanically, for the sake of abandoning silence. It was no lie, but of no use. There were two outcomes of Pan losing interest or need, and there was no way to cogently predict which he would opt for, on either whim or calculation. "But I didn't come to you without reason. If there's anyone on this earth who could escape this place, then it's you. I think this is one of those times when history would do well to repeat itself. I would do my utmost to be your eyes and ears so that, when the time comes, you'll be ready." She left them with an expectant look.

With yet another sharing of gazes, Sabre was near sure they did not wish to disclose or deliberate with her presence so close. An itch grew in her hands, a longing to take the hilt of the dagger within her palm. In its absence, those little fingers were left to fidget and flex.

It was easier to take up the façade that it was only they who had much to lose, that she could tread either path and be no worse for either. At its first vulnerable crack, she turned to look over her shoulder, carefully scouring the sweep of the bay behind her, drawn irrefutably to the shadows first.

"Hearts can be split," the Dark One then spoke, recalling her undivided attention. "Enchanted hearts, that is," he added for her sake.

Sabre's brows pulled. "How?"

"Usually, it's under different circumstances, but I believe I could, theoretically, make the necessary adjustments – don't get your hopes up, though, dearie," he raised a sharp hand that quelled the surge of what had felt so close to hope, before turning to his son, voice lowered; "Everything I'd need is in the shop but I can't get to any of it from here, rendering this entire enterprise _useless_. The only creatures who can travel freely between realms are mermaids, and I hardly think we'll have any volunteers."

The irritating lump at the back of Sabre's throat was reluctant to go down. A few attempts dislodged it. She curled her fingers under her sleeves, and moved to turn away.

"Then I suggest you find your way of leaving this damned place. I'll keep Henry safe for as long as I can."

"Sabre, wait!" Baelfire called just as her back turned fully; halting, she pivoted back and watched his avid gaze dazzle. "I know one mermaid who might. Her name's Ariel, she's not from Neverland. She's not like other mermaids; she'd help us. I'm sure of it."

"If she's not on Neverland then how do you propose to find her?" Sabre inquired, folding her arms tautly. It took iron restraint not to fidget, betray something fragile.

Failing to answer, Baelfire instead scoured the nearby shoreline, feet shuffling in a hurried search, oblivious or apathetic to the odd expression he elicited from the shrouded girl. Both she and his father watched him pick up several sea shells of varying size but toss them all back. Sabre understood, and kept her silence. She'd done what he was hoping to do as a young pup, only to no avail beyond the rising caress of waves and wind breathed from dark skies.

Baelfire picked up a conch of faintest coral hue and held it up for inspection before giving a concise but approving nod. "You know how when you hold a shell up to your ear and you can hear the ocean," he said, standing to full height. "Sometimes, the ocean can hear you."

Deducing the obvious insinuation, Sabre gave a dubious shrug. "And you think Ariel will simply come when called?"

Baelfire only grinned. It was nothing like Pan's, not beneath the surface. He passed the conch from one hand to the other. "I rescued her when I was still a boy, she promised to return the favour if I ever needed it. She'll come."

"How quickly could this be done?" Sabre wasted no time in demanding.

"She'd have to come to us from wherever she is – if she comes at all – travel from here to Storybrooke, then back again," the Dark One intervened. "I don't think we have that sort of time."

"Then make time," she snapped, fingers gripping to the point of dull pain, only to wince at the sharp raising of the sorcerer's hand, waiting for something terrible that never came.

"You don't give the orders, dearie," he hissed at her, accepting her silence even through those narrowed eyes, as dark as his own.

"She's right, though," Baelfire said. "We need all the time we can get. Sabre, is there anything you can do on your side?"

Initially, she looked away. What Pan would do if he discovered…the shudder was unpreventable. "Pan watches many of my interactions with Henry, he would know if I tried to put doubts in his mind but I…I can try to do what I can. Just don't depend on it. If you can make good enough entertainment for Pan then he'll prolong the game."

"We're not going to dance like puppets just to make fun for Pan," the other began, only to be silenced by her cutting tone.

"That's _exactly_ what you'll do, if you want your son to have any real kind of chance. Don't condemn me for the truth. There's plenty I've had to do that I never would have done if there'd been any other viable choice," she stopped to draw in a breath, shaking her head. "But, say this Ariel can retrieve all you need, what then?"

Her eyes were drawn to the Dark One interlacing his fingers, poking out from under thick black sleeves. "You leave that to us," he said, and Sabre didn't much care for the tone that went with it, though had little doubt the feeling was mutual. "Allow us three days; I trust you'll have the means of finding us again"

Sabre's watch was careful, akin to mistrust. Yet she would not leave empty-handed. "Very well. Three days."

* * *

**Please share your thoughts! **

**I'm having a lot of fun writing the different sides of Sabre and I hope you're enjoying them too, but what do you think is genuine and what is an act?**


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